


Sainte Claire: Summer

by R_S_B, Sareki



Series: Sainte Claire [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s04e18-19 The Killing Game, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_S_B/pseuds/R_S_B, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sareki/pseuds/Sareki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two eighteen year olds fall in love in the summer of 1936. (Bobby/Brigitte, P/T (ish), Rated R for language and sexual content)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We would first like to thank Delwin for betaing this monster. Her help was truly instrumental to getting this work out the door. Also a big thank you to Photogirl1890 for reading this before we sent it out the door and making invaluable comments. Thanks also to capitainejuliette on tumblr for helping us with understanding the French school system. Hopefully we didn’t mess that up too badly. And thanks to everyone who cheered us on along the way. Your continued interest in a Bobby and Brigitte story kept us moving when throwing in the towel sounded good. 
> 
> When we jokingly decided to write a ‘Bobby and Brigitte Novel’, I don’t think that either of us realized that this thing might end up being novel length. This is the first of four parts, although each stands alone, so should we never get to the other parts, the reader will not be left without closure. 
> 
> This part chronicles the summer in 1936 that Bobby and Brigitte fall in love. We took all available facts given in The Killing Game, but then had to round out the stories and the characters. For the purposes of this story, Bobby and Brigitte are real people, therefore, while Bobby can look like Tom, Brigitte is not half Klingon. We picture her looking like Roxann Dawson, but you are welcome to picture her however you like. 
> 
> It is important to note that Bobby and Brigitte are not Tom and B’Elanna. Although we used Tom and B’Elanna as a base for their personalities, we did try to differentiate the characters from each other. Brigitte is probably a bit more ‘different’ than Bobby, in part due to Dawson’s efforts to portray Brigitte differently than B’Elanna in the episode. 
> 
> A complicating feature of this story is it takes place in France, and thus largely in French. However, since Bobby is American, English is also spoken. Not wishing to write all the French dialogue in French (even if we could…), we have tried to indicate what language the characters are speaking through other means. Generally, if dialogue is italicized, it means it is in the non-dominant language being spoken in the scene. In other words, if the scene is primarily in French, words spoken in English appear in italics.
> 
> Another issue associated with language is that Bobby is a French language learner and Brigitte is an English language learner. As such, both have strong accents and a limited use of their second language. An attempt was made to convey this, hopefully effectively. 
> 
> Finally, an effort was made to make this as historically accurate as possible. Although one of us supposedly has a degree in history, we are sure there are inaccuracies. If you would like to point these out to us, we are more than happy to hear about them.
> 
> We hope you enjoy this piece. It took a lot of effort to produce and was outside our normal Tom and B’Elanna comfort zone. As such, feedback on it would be adored, even if it’s as simple as ‘well, I don’t hate this.’

_June 1936_

As Bobby Davis lay in the cold mud, he couldn’t help wondering if the weather was actually mocking him. From his vantage point on the ground, he stared up at the ominous grey clouds above him. They were the type that made you want to get inside before the storm could ruin your clothes as well as your nice day out. But what did the weather have against him at this moment? _This is ridiculous,_ he thought, _the weather can’t have it out for you._ Then a raindrop landed directly in his eye.

_Or maybe it can._

Bobby had been driving through the French countryside, already late for a meeting with his father at the steel mill, when he had felt the car suddenly start to decelerate. Concerned, he’d pulled over, and just as he got out, the first rain drops began to fall. As he circumnavigated the car, he saw the reason for his troubles: the left front tire was flat.

 _No problem,_ he had thought, _I’ll just throw the spare on._

However, it turned out that doing so was easier said than done.

Bobby slowly eased himself out of the mud and the current bane of his existence came back into view. The flat tire.

It was still on the hub, and Bobby had the completely irrational feeling that it was gloating at him. The tire hung above the ground, high and dry and out of the mud. Unlike Bobby.

Standing, he rolled up his sleeves and approached it again. It was him or the tire. One of them was not going to get out of this alive.

Secretly, he wondered how the tire would kill him.

But that’s when he saw it.

“ _Damn it_!” he shouted, having finally seen the reason that the tire refused to come off.

He had left one of the lug nuts on.

Reaching out, tentatively, he prayed that he had at least remembered to loosen it while the car was still on the ground. Because if not, he would be lowering and raising the car… for the third time. 

As he laid his hand on the nut, he whispered “please” over and over. Slowly, gently, he tried to turn the nut. And mercifully, it spun.

“Oh thank _God_!” Maybe things were finally looking up.

Then a flash of lightning caught his eye, followed quickly by a crash of thunder.

Or maybe not.

* * *

"Hello?”

Brigitte heard a thickly accented voice waft through the garage. Looking up from the wiring harness she had been working on, she was surprised to see a tall blond man, around her age, standing in the doorway. A man who was pretty much covered head to toe in mud. 

"Can I help you?” Brigitte asked, unsure of what this strange, mud covered man wanted.

"Um, yes. The… uh… the thing on the car… broke.” He spoke haltingly, his French thick with an English accent.

"The ‘thing’?” Brigitte brought her hand to her mouth, trying to hide her smirk.

"Yes... I am sorry, I do not know the word. The thing the car is on.” Brigitte narrowed her eyes, wondering if he meant 'chassis' when suddenly the man exclaimed, “That thing!” and pointed to the tire on the car that Brigitte had just been fixing. 

Brigitte smiled, finally understanding. "Ah, the tire is flat.”

"Yes!” The man clapped his hands together, smiling with relief, and Brigitte couldn’t help noticing that he was probably pretty cute… under all that mud.

But then he opened his mouth again. "I need a mechanic. Where is he?”

Brigitte’s voice turned icy, "I _am_ the mechanic.”

"Oh. Uh, okay.” 

There was an awkward silence, filled only by the sound of the rain pattering on the roof.

"Well, where’s the car?” Brigitte asked, her voice still tinged with disgust. "I can’t help you if I don’t know where the car is.”

"The car is outside. Should I drive it inside?” 

"Yes. And park it here,” Brigitte said, gesturing to the empty spot next to the car she had been working on.

The man left and Brigitte turned back to her wiring harness. She could feel the bitterness that often accompanied helping new customers rise within her. It didn’t matter that she had been fixing cars alongside her father her whole life, whenever a new man came into the shop, he always instantly doubted her. Just because she was a girl.

Suddenly she wished her father was here right now. Not because she couldn’t do the job. But because, sometimes, she just really hated dealing with the male customers.

The roar of an engine cut into her thoughts and she looked up to see a new Citroën Traction Avant cabriolet roll into the garage, the muddy man behind the wheel. 

"This is a very nice car,” Brigitte commented with a little surprise as the man got out. "Is it the ’36 model?”

"Um, yes, I think. So,” he said, pointing to the driver’s side front tire, “this is the one that… uh…”

"Went flat,” Brigitte offered.

"Yes! It is possible to fix now? Or should I come back?”

"If it’s just a tube replacement I can do it now. Where’s the old tire? In the spare compartment?” From his blank look, Brigitte was pretty sure that most of that had gone over his head. "Never mind.” She pushed past him and opened the compartment. Hefting the muddy tire out, she inspected it and saw the small nail that had lodged itself in the tread.

She looked up to catch the man's attention before she started to speak again. "It’s not a problem. I can fix it in about half an hour.”

"Oh, good,” he said, looking relieved. "Can I wait here? I do not have anywhere to go. And it is still raining.”

Brigitte winced. She really didn’t want him hanging out in her garage as she worked, but if her papa ever found out that she had sent a customer out into the rain, he would have her head. So she took a breath and tried to smile. "It’s fine. You can stay here. Just...” she looked him up and down, “don’t get mud all over everything.”

"Oh, okay.” The man began to wander aimlessly around the shop as Brigitte got the lug wrench to remove the spare tire. Fitting the wrench on the nut, she hardly had to twist at all before it spun free.

"Oh my God, did they not teach you to change a tire in England?” she exclaimed.

"What?” The man asked, walking over to stand beside her again.

"You’re damn lucky you even made it here! These nuts are far too loose! Do you have any idea how the vibrations of driving can loosen these nuts?”

The man just stared at her, and Brigitte wasn’t sure if he didn’t understand what she was saying, or if he was just shocked that she was yelling at him. But she was just so pissed off that it was hard for her to care. Here, this man had been questioning her abilities, when all along he couldn’t even change a tire? She looked back up at him, about to start yelling, but she reminded herself that it would do no good. Instead, she took a breath, trying to level her voice. "Look, Monsieur—"

"My name is Bobby. Say it again, please?" he asked. "More slowly?”

Sighing, Brigitte started again. "These things,” she said pointing to the lug nuts, "were very loose. When you drive the car it vibrates and it causes them to unscrew themselves. The wheel could have fallen off. Next time you change a tire, you have to make these very tight. Do you understand?”

He nodded, this time seeming to understand what she had just said.

“Good.” After jacking the car up, Brigitte took off the punctured tire, brought it over to the workbench, and began to replace the tube.

"What are you doing now?” he asked curiously.

Looking up, she noted that the muddy man, _Bobby_ , she reminded herself, was right next to her again, hovering. As she looked at him, she felt the anger rise in her again. "What? Do you not trust me to fix a tire?" she challenged.

Bobby's face fell immediately at her expression, but it took a few moments before his language skills were able to catch up. "No! No, I do! I am just... interested. This was my first time…” he paused as he collected the words, “… changing a tire. And I have never seen this part. Can you teach me?” He let a smile cross his lips before he added, “Please?”

Brigitte was slightly taken aback. He wanted her to _teach_ him? For a moment she thought that maybe he was making fun of her, but studying his face, she couldn’t detect any deception. She took a breath, and thought about how to explain this in simple enough terms that he could follow. "Well, there is a tube on the inside that needs to be replaced, so that is what I’m doing.”

Bobby nodded and another moment of silence passed between them. Brigitte grunted, wrestling with the damaged tire.

"What is your name?” Bobby suddenly asked. Brigitte looked up at him, a bit perplexed by the non sequitur. He must have noticed, because he quickly added, "You did not tell me.”

He smiled at her again and she couldn't help notice how open and honest his face was. "It's Brigitte. Brigitte Bernard,” she grunted as she returned to working on the tire.

"It is a pretty name. Pretty. Like you.”

Brigitte side eyed him as she continued to work. Dressed in grey coveralls and with her dark wavy hair hastily pulled back, she very much doubted his words were an accurate description of her in her current state. But then again she looked pretty good compared to him at the moment, still covered in mud. It was drying now and starting to flake off around the garage. "Um, Bobby,” she began as she pulled out the tube. “Why don’t I give you a towel and you can clean up a bit. That way you don’t ruin the interior any more than you already have.” _Or my garage_.

A look of relief flashed across Bobby’s face. "Yes, thank you.”

After setting him up in the other room at the basin, Brigitte continued her work on the tire. Hearing footsteps, she assumed that it was Bobby returning until she realized they were coming from the wrong direction. Looking up, Brigitte saw her older cousin coming in through the garage door.

"Hey, Brigitte! Is Auntie Maria around?" Simone asked.

Brigitte set down the tire iron. "Yeah, Mama should be in the kitchen.” Simone started to head into the house when Brigitte spoke again. “By the way, I like your dress."

Simone paused and made a childlike twirl, causing the hem of the blue dress with little white flowers to flair. “Thanks, it’s new. I probably shouldn’t have, but it just looked so good.”

Brigitte nodded. “It really does. And maybe I could borrow it sometime?”

Simone laughed. “As long as you promise not to get engine grease on it.”

“Hey, that only happened once.” Brigitte retorted, her hands on her hips.

Simone was already headed into the house when she called over her shoulder. “Once was one time too many.”

Brigitte shook her head and turned back to her work, just to be interrupted by another voice. “Who was that?”

“My cousin,” Brigitte replied, carefully jamming the new tube into the space between the tire and the wheel.

“Ah.” There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence as Brigitte worked and Bobby stared at her. Desperate to get his focus off of what she was doing, Brigitte asked, “What part of England are you from, Bobby?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I am not English. I am American, from New York.” There was another pause. “Why did you think I am English?”

Brigitte had just finished with the tire and was ready to put it back on the car. “Well, you obviously speak English, and England is much closer, so…”

“But we do not sound the same.” Bobby replied.

Brigitte turned to face him, her arms crossed. “Oh, and you could tell the difference between me and a Quebecois? I think not.”

Bobby laughed. “I guess not.” Brigitte turned back to the workbench and hefted the tire. She made her way back over to the car, Bobby on her heels. “What are you doing now?” he asked.

 _It’s not obvious?_ “I’m ready to put the tire back on.” She knelt to get started but he stopped her.

“May I? To learn?” Bobby asked.

Brigitte was taken slightly aback, but again, he looked like he was genuinely interested, so she shrugged and replied, “Sure,” before passing him the tire. As he placed the tire on the bolts, Brigitte directed, “Okay, now we need to lower the car back on the ground so we can tighten the nuts without the wheel spinning.”

“Yes, I… learned. Earlier. I, um… raised the car first and… had trouble.”

Brigitte let out a chuckle and watched him lower the car. In spite of herself, she was actually starting to enjoy teaching Bobby how to change a tire. Despite how he had come off at first, he actually seemed to respect her knowledge. And that was not something that happened every day to Brigitte.

When all four wheels were again in contact with the earth, Brigitte instructed, “Okay, now put the nuts on. And tighten them this time.” She smiled at him as she passed him the lug wrench and nuts. “You’ll need to tighten them to about 130 newton-meters.”

Bobby looked up at her, confused. “I do not know what that is.”

“It’s the torque specification… a measure of force at a distance.” Seeing that he was still confused, Brigitte went and got the torque wrench and showed it to him. “See, you can set this to your torque specification and it won’t let you go any further.”

“Oh!” Bobby suddenly exclaimed, then spoke in English, “ _It’s a foot-pound!_ ”

This time it was Brigitte that looked confused. “ _I do not know what that is_ ,” she replied in her own thickly accented English.

Bobby laughed and, switching back to French, said, “I think we are just using different, um… units.” After Brigitte handed him the torque wrench, fitted with the lug nut attachment, Bobby went about tightening the nuts. “So, you speak English?” he asked as he worked.

“ _A little_ ,” Brigitte replied in Bobby’s native tongue. “ _We learn in school, but I do not have a lot of, uh…_ ”

“ _Practice?_ ” Bobby provided.

“Yes,” Brigitte said, switching back to French. “Also, your language has a lot of synonyms. It’s hard. How can there be so many words for ‘to see’? And they are all slightly different.” In English she listed, “ _To see, to watch, to look, to gaze, to view… too many._ ”

Bobby laughed as he tightened the last nut. “You are right. I never thought of that. But French is not easy either.”

“Well, it’s easier than English,” Brigitte replied.

“You are French. Of course you think it is easy. I think English is pretty easy…” Bobby said as he tightened the last nut. “Voila! And I did it correctly this time, thanks to you.”

For a moment, while they were crouched down around the tire, Brigitte felt her eyes lock with this strange, now slightly less muddy young man. And this time when he smiled at her, she suddenly felt nervous and quickly looked away. “Uh, yes,” she said, standing.

Rising as well, Bobby asked, “How much does it cost?”

“It’s fifty francs for the tube, don’t worry about the labor… but don’t tell my papa,” Brigitte said with a smile.

Digging into his wallet, Bobby laughed. “Thanks. Although I am still not used to the exchange rate. I first think ‘fifty dollars’ and forget to um… convert it.” Turning back to his car, he said, “Thank you, Brigitte. For the help and for the new words… ‘flat tire,’” he said, looking proud.

In spite of herself, Brigitte smiled as she replied, “Bravo. Come back if you have more problems with the car.”

“I will.” And with that he started up the engine and backed the car out of the garage.

After staring out the door for a moment, Brigitte turned to see Simone still standing in the doorway leading back into the house. “Have you been there the whole time?” she asked her cousin.

“I have,” Simone replied with a knowing grin.

“What’s that look about?” Brigitte demanded as she turned her attention back to the wiring harness.

“Oh, nothing…”

* * *

 _Well, maybe things are looking up after all,_ Bobby thought as he pulled up to the steel mill. He half expected for a sudden downpour to prove him wrong, but as he turned off the car, only sunshine and the happy tweeting of birds greeted him.

He leaned back slightly and let his mind drift back to Brigitte, his cause for optimism. The way she had smiled at him as they said their goodbyes, her charmingly thick accent when she had spoken to him in English. Hell, he was even strangely turned on by the way she yelled at him.

And then, of course, there was the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous.

Bobby was so busy ruminating on Brigitte’s finer qualities that he was startled when he heard a voice call out to him. “Where the hell have you been? And what the hell happened to the car?”

Bobby winced as he turned to see his father. Getting out of the car, he took a deep breath. Now was _not_ the time to start a fight with his father. “The car got a flat while I was driving to the main road from the house. I had to take it into town to get repaired and then go back home to clean up.”

Bobby watched as his father, Robert Davis Jr., slowly rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Clean up?” he asked, his voice weary.

“I was covered in mud,” came Bobby’s sheepish reply.

Heaving a great sigh, his father said, “Of course you were. Well, you missed the meeting I wanted you to attend so you could meet some of the French backers on this project. You made me look like quite the fool, Bobby, saying that my son would be here any moment just to have you never show up.”

“Sorry, Dad, but I can’t control if a car is going to have a flat tire!”

“You could have thought to call and let me know you were going to miss the meeting. This is always the problem with you, Bobby! You get distracted so easily and you never think things through!” Robert threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know what I am going to do with you sometimes!” For a moment Bobby was afraid that this was going to devolve into a full blown lecture, but, much to his relief, his father turned away and headed back inside. “Just be on time Monday.”

And with that he was gone.

Getting back in the car, Bobby took a deep breath and, grasping the steering wheel, he rested his forehead between his hands. He knew his father had a point. Maybe he _should_ have called. But knowing that just made him feel worse. Maybe his father was right about his lack of focus and discipline. But there was something about working in the steel industry the rest of his life that just made him shudder.

Not that he had a great deal of choice in the matter.

Picking his head back up, he looked at his watch. It was already four in the afternoon. The day was pretty much shot, but at the same time, Bobby didn’t want to just go home. There wasn’t much to do there, after all.  

Slowly his mind drifted yet again back to Brigitte. He had never met a girl quite like her. She was nothing like the girls back home that his mom was constantly setting him up with. While all of those other girls were pretty enough, most of them were as dumb as bricks. But Brigitte… she didn’t seem like that at all.

At that moment Bobby knew exactly how he wanted to spend the rest of the day. Starting the car again, Bobby drove back into town.

* * *

Brigitte was about to lock the doors to the garage when she saw the Citroën cabriolet drive back up. Pausing, she watched as Bobby, now clean, stepped out of the car. She couldn’t help but notice how good he looked now that he wasn’t covered in mud, his fit form dressed in well-tailored beige slacks and a dark jacket. Shaking her head slightly she called out, “Bobby! Is there something else wrong with the car? We’re just closing.”

“No,” he said as he walked toward her. “I hoped you would be here… I… I wanted to ask you…” He paused, suddenly looking unsure.

“What is it?” Brigitte asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” he asked, pulling a daisy from behind his back.

 _What?!_ Brigitte was shocked into silence. She just stood there for a moment, trying to comprehend what was happening. This man, whose head she had ripped off earlier, wanted to have dinner? With her? He was still standing there, holding out the flower. For lack of any better idea, she took it from him, twirling it nervously in her hand.

Maybe she was just mistaken as to his intentions. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes… do you want to go on a date with me tonight?”

 _Nope, not mistaken_. She eyed him for a long moment, again, trying to figure out if this was a joke or if he was making fun of her. She could tell he was getting nervous at her reaction, and for a moment she felt kind of bad. After all, what had he done other than ask her on a date?

She pondered what her response should be. He seemed nice enough, when his foot wasn’t in his mouth. But now really wasn’t a good time. She should be focusing on studying, not going out on the town.

But it also wasn’t like there was a line of men waiting to ask her out. And he did seem nice. And while she couldn’t explain it, there was something about him that intrigued her.

“It is okay to say no. I understand.”

Brigitte’s head snapped up and she met his eyes. How long had she been thinking? “Of course I can say no,” she retorted, almost instantly regretting the harshness in her voice, especially at the look on his face.

“I understand, it was nice—“

Brigitte cut him off. “I didn’t say I was saying no.”

“Oh?” His expression perked up.

 _Oh, what the hell._ “I can’t go out tonight. I have to help my parents unload the supplies that my papa went to pick up today. But I am free for lunch, tomorrow.”

Brigitte watched, with some amusement, as Bobby’s face went from hopeful, to disappointed, to confused, as he was obviously having trouble following what she had just said, “Wait… sorry. What? Can you say that last part again?”

Brigitte smirked at him. “I will have lunch with you. _Tomorrow_.”

Bobby broke into a grin so wide that, for a moment, Brigitte wondered if his face would split. “That is wonderful! Tomorrow. Noon? Where do I pick you up?”

“Noon will be fine. And come back here, our house is behind the garage.”

“Great. I will see you tomorrow.”

As Bobby walked back to the car, Brigitte found herself with a grin on her face that could have matched Bobby’s. Her first date. Idly, she wondered if Simone would let her borrow that new blue dress.

* * *

“Brigitte, when you’re finished with the nuts and the bolts, I want you to sort and put away the hydraulic fittings,” Philippe Bernard said, hoisting a box out of the back of the bed of his pickup and placing it on the hand truck. He then watched as his wife tilted back the truck to move the boxes across the garage, while his daughter sat on the ground, still sorting the hardware but unresponsive to his request.

He waited a moment more for any reaction from Brigitte before walking over to his wife to help her unload the boxes. Speaking loudly he said, “Maria, I think our beautiful Brigitte has finally figured out how to go to the moon, because she certainly isn’t here in the room with us.”

Brigitte looked up, the combination of her name and her father’s joking tone finally catching her attention. “I’m sorry, I was… concentrating.”

“On sorting nuts and bolts? You’ve been doing that since you were old enough to know better than to put them in your mouth. What’s got you so mixed up today?”

“Oh, nothing,” Brigitte said distractedly, turning back to her work.

“Simone did mention that a cute boy came by,” Maria cut in, her French lightly tinted with a Spanish accent.

“Is that so?” Philippe asked, winking at Brigitte.

Much to his surprise, Brigitte shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, an American man did come to the shop today. He had a flat tire. I fixed it and he left.”

“And why didn’t I see this in the log?” her father asked.

“Because… I didn’t charge him for the labor, just the tube.”

“Brigitte!” her mother scolded. “Do you think money grows on trees?”

“No, Mama. Look, he did most of the work anyway, I just… had to talk him through it.”

Philippe waved his hand dismissively before his wife could respond. “It’s fine, a little charity grows customer loyalty.” Turning his attention back to Brigitte he continued, “Is that _really_ all that happened?” Philippe knew that his daughter sometimes struggled with ‘customer interactions’… especially when those customers were pigheaded males.

Brigitte took a deep breath. _Oh no_ , he thought, though he waited patiently for her to speak. “He… he came back right before I locked up… and asked me to go on a date with him.”

A shocked silence filled the room. That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He would not have been surprised if she had said that the man had doubted her abilities, or she had yelled at him…. But this?

Random men did not ask out his daughter. That… just didn’t happen.

“So let me understand.” Maria’s voice broke Philippe out of his thoughts. “Some American boy comes into the shop with a flat tire, you fix it, and then he asks you out?”

“Yes.”

“Did you agree to go out with him?” Maria asked.

“I did. We’re having lunch tomorrow.”

A silence filled the room until Phillippe finally found his voice. Trying to sound casual, he asked, “So, what is the story with the American? What’s his name?”

Brigitte returned to her sorting as she spoke, “His name is Bobby.”

“Does Bobby have a last name?” Philippe asked, grunting as he returned to unloading the boxes.

“Umm, I don’t think I asked.”

“Well, ask tomorrow,” Maria said as she stood again next to the hand truck waiting for Philippe to finish placing boxes on it. “Why is he here?”

“He didn’t say.”

Maria huffed, clearly not too comfortable with this situation. “Well, what _do_ you know about him?”

“I know that he drives an 11CV Citroën Traction Avant cabriolet and that he now knows how to say ‘flat tire’ in French.”

“Really? A Traction Avant? That’s a pretty nice car for a young man to be driving,” Philippe commented.

“And he’s driving the latest model, too. I’m actually hoping he’ll bring it back in so I can get a better look at it. I’m interested in that front wheel drive system,” Brigitte said, the excitement over the car’s drive train evident in her voice.

“Well, just don’t let this get in the way of your studies. It’s less than two months until the bac.” Phillippe said, taking the last of the boxes out the truck.

“I know, but one afternoon not studying won’t kill me.”

 _Let’s hope it’s just one afternoon_ , Phillippe thought.

* * *

“Oh, come _on_ , France. Can you not rain for just _one_ day?” Bobby pled in English as the first raindrop fell on his windshield.

Just a few minutes before, the sun had been shining in what could only be described as a perfect Saturday for a picnic. He had cheerfully filled a basket with cheeses, meats, bread, and wine and placed it in the trunk of his car _._ _After all, these were the only things one could possibly need for a picnic in France_ , he had thought. As he drove into town, however, the weather grew dark and the wind picked up. And on his final approach to the garage, the first treacherous drop of water fell from the sky. 

Bobby was still sitting in the car when he looked up and saw Brigitte. She was walking towards the open garage door, smiling.

 _She looks amazing,_ he thought as he felt his stomach drop. Her hair was loose and fell past her shoulders in soft waves, her lips were full and red, and the knee-length dress she wore fit her trim frame perfectly.

He was brought back into the moment by a flash of lightning, followed shortly by a clap of thunder. Through the sheet of rain that now separated them, he could see Brigitte sheltering under the eave of the garage.

Brigitte watched as Bobby hopped out of the car and quickly made his way towards her. Despite the short distance that separated them, by the time he got to her he was soaked.

“You look amazing,” Bobby said, pushing his damp hair back off his face.

Brigitte couldn’t help but smile at this. _Thank God for Simone’s dress,_ she thought, but replied, “Thanks. So… where are we going? If we are walking we may want to wait until the rain lets up a bit.”

She watched as Bobby heaved a sigh and gestured towards the rain. “Well, I wanted to go on a picnic. But the weather is… not good.”

Brigitte peered out from under the eave to take a look at the clouds. “Yeah. I think I’m going to have to recommend against that.”

“I have the lunch in the car… but maybe a café? Is one nearby?” Bobby asked. He was still staring at her, which made her feel both flattered and vaguely uncomfortable all at the same time.

She folded her arms over her chest, suddenly very aware of how low cut this dress was on her. She thought of the nearby places they could eat, but then her thoughts turned back to the food in the car. “Yes, but since you have the food, there is no point in letting it go to waste. We can just eat here.”

“In the garage?” Bobby questioned.

“Yeah. We’re closed today so no one should bother us. Except maybe my parents. They’re curious about you.” Brigitte could just imagine her father coming in, making up some excuse about something he needed just to get a look at Bobby.

“They are?”

“Yeah. You’re the...” Brigitte paused, realizing that she didn’t really want to admit the next part. _Well, then you shouldn’t have opened your mouth!_ “You’re the first boy that’s asked me out.”

Bobby looked shocked by this revelation. “I am? But you are…” Bobby paused.

“Odd?” Brigitte offered.

“I do not have the French words for this. In English I would say _fascinating_.”

Brigitte smiled at the English word. “I understood that. It’s the same word in French,” she said as she supplied the French pronunciation for him. “So I’m ‘ _fascinating_ ’?”

“And _beautiful_. And many more words I do not know how to say in French. So I am surprised that a man does not have you.”

“No man will ever _have_ me,” Brigitte retorted, a little annoyed. Instantly, she began to wonder if she had been wrong about him, if this was a bad idea.

But then Bobby blushed and stammered, “I am sorry, my French is so bad. Maybe I mean to say I am surprised you do not have a man.”

Brigitte couldn’t help but smile at his response. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you?” Before he could respond she continued, “Why don’t you go get the food so we can begin?”

Returning moments later after braving the rain again, Bobby started to lay out the blanket when Brigitte grabbed it from him. “Wait, I have to check the ground.”

Bobby looked at her, perplexed. “What?”

“I have to make sure that there is no oil on the ground… so we don’t ruin our clothes.” _And so Simone doesn’t kill_ me, Brigitte thought as she sought out a clean patch of cement. “Here will be fine,” she finally pronounced before laying out the blanket.

Sitting, Brigitte watched as Bobby joined her and started laying out the contents of the basket. She picked up the bottle of wine and the corkscrew, but paused when she saw the label. “This is a nice wine, Bobby! Much too nice for a picnic.”

Bobby looked surprised. “It is? I just took it from the, uh … the wine cellar.”

“Yeah, it is. Your father will be mad when he sees this is gone.”

“Um, he does not drink much,” Bobby explained. “He will not be mad I took the wine. However, he might be mad I am _drinking_ the wine.”

“Why would your father be mad about you drinking wine?”

“I am eighteen. In New York you must be eighteen to buy alcohol, so it is new for him. And he was for… um… the time of no alcohol.”

“Prohibition?” Brigitte offered.

“Yes! He thinks drinking is for lazy people.”

Brigitte could not believe what she was hearing. “Even wine? We drink wine every night and we’re not lazy.”

“Well, I think… I do not agree with my father on many things.” Bobby replied as he poured her a glass.

Brigitte shrugged and took in the scent of the red wine before sipping. “This is really too good for a picnic,” she reiterated. “Especially one in a mechanic’s garage.”

“Well, it is not too good for the company.”

Brigitte paused. Why did he keep doing this? Calling her pretty, fascinating… all these compliments. Before she could stop her mouth, she said, “You compliment me a lot. Why?”

She could tell that Bobby was shocked by the boldness of her question. But she was equally perplexed when he answered her question with a question. “People do not compliment you?”

“No.” Brigitte paused for a moment. “Well, the teachers at school sometimes say I’m clever and my papa says he’s proud of me. But people don’t compliment me the way you do.”

“Well, it is their problem. Maybe it is another… um… ‘cultural difference’.”

“Maybe.”

A pause filled the room. Bobby busied himself making a little sandwich out of the bread and meats, all the while wondering why Brigitte was so resistant to the idea that he liked her.

“What’s your last name?” Brigitte’s voice brought Bobby out of his thoughts. He looked up, as she continued, “My parents asked and I realized I didn’t know.”

 _I didn’t properly introduce myself? My mom would have my hide!_ “Davis. My name is Robert Walter Davis, the third.”

“That’s a very fancy name,” Brigitte said, taking a sip of her wine. He wondered if she was actually starting to flirt with him.

“Maybe a very fancy name, but I do not think I am so fancy. Anything else for your parents?”

“Yes, actually. Why did you move to France?” Brigitte asked, her attention focused on the slice of cheese and the hunk of baguette in her hands.

“Oh, I did not move here. I am just here for the summer. My dad works at a steel mill near here and I came with him to…” Bobby paused and tried to think of a way to say ‘learn the ropes’ in French that would makes any sense. “He is training me. I will do his work when I am older.”

“Ah. Like my papa and me.”

“You will have this?” Bobby asked, gesturing at their surroundings.

“Maybe, maybe not. I’m supposed to go to university in the fall, but I’m not really sure what I’ll do after that.”

“What will you study?” Bobby asked, a little surprised that Brigitte was even going to university. He didn’t think many working class girls in New York could afford such a thing.

“Engineering,” Brigitte replied casually.

Even more shocked, Bobby blurted out, “Engineering? Really?”

“Yes, really. Why?” Brigitte replied, obviously upset over his tone.

He back peddled, and tried to explain. “I do not know girls… In New York the girls do not like math and science.”

“Well, I do. Is that a problem?” she challenged, the volume of her voice rising.

 _Oh, shit._ “No, it is great,” he said, trying to sound as genuine as possible. He really did think it was great… it was just a bit unexpected. But so was being a female mechanic.

Brigitte seemed stunned by his words. “You think it’s great?”

Bobby nodded, enthusiastically. “Yes. I like it. That you know so much about cars. I find it…” he paused. Could he really tell her that her intelligence and passion, not just her looks, had attracted him? “You are going to laugh.”

Brigitte shook her head. “I won’t laugh.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Well. I really liked it. How you taught me about the tire. It was, um, I do not know how to say it. But it was… charming? You were charming while you taught me.”

There was a moment of silence that was quickly broken by Brigitte’s laughter.

“You promised!” Bobby exclaimed, giving her a playful shove. He couldn’t help but smile as well at how that had all come out.

“I know, I’m sorry. But the idea that I’m… charming, when I order you around, it’s too much.”

“But it’s true.”

There was another moment of silence as his words quieted her laughter. “Really?” she asked.

“Really,” he responded, his voice serious.

Bobby watched as she looked away and busied herself with some bread and cheese. He wasn’t sure what else to say, and was positive that even if he thought of something, he didn’t have the language skills to properly convey it. Thankfully, Brigitte changed the subject. “So, did you attend lycée?”

Bobby paused for a moment, recalling what he knew of the French educational system and trying to think of a way to explain the American system so Brigitte would understand. “Um, yes? It is different in America. We do not have collège and lycée, only _high school_ ,” he finished the last word in English.

“Do you take the bac at the end of _high school_?” Brigitte asked.

“The what?”

“The baccalauréat… the end of school exams.”

Bobby paused, trying to think of what that would be in America. Final Exams? The SATs? “We do not have a baccalauréat. But I finished school, if this is what you are asking.”

Brigitte nodded her head slightly, still not really understanding the American system. “Well, I’m not done yet. The exams begin the sixteenth of July… so I feel like all I do is study now.”

“You are studying already? It is more than a month from now. Is it that hard?”

Brigitte nodded. “They’re difficult. And there are many different subjects I will be examined in: math, physics, history, French….” she trailed off.

“Sounds… hard,” Bobby said, silently lamenting that he didn’t know the word for ‘intense’ in French. 

“Well, it will all be over soon,” Brigitte said nonchalantly as she returned her attention to the bread and cheese in front of her. “So, if you are done with school, are you not going to university?”

“No, I will go to Yale in the fall.”

Brigitte’s eyebrows raised slightly at that. “Really? That is a very good school.”

Feigning offense, Bobby replied, “I am not smart?”

“Well, you couldn’t change a tire….”

He laughed. “I am not exactly…” he paused again to collect the correct words, “good at mechanical things.”

Brigitte’s eyebrows furrowed. “You work in a steel mill and you’re not good with your hands?”

“Oh, I do not work… with my hands,” Bobby replied, copying her phrasing. “I… I work as… the boss?”

“Like a foreman?” Brigitte asked.

“Um, maybe. I do not know this word. Can you explain?”

“He is a manager?” Brigitte tried again.

Bobby instantly recognized the cognate. He knew it didn’t exactly translate to owner, but he thought it was close enough. “Yes, like this.”

“I see. So, what are you going to study at Yale?”

“History, I think.”

“History? Why history?”

Bobby shrugged. “I like it.” Bobby paused again, trying to organize his thoughts into French. “My future… it is planned. I will work with my father, but there is no degree for this. My dad, he wants me to have a degree so I will be respected. But he does not care what the degree is in so… I want to enjoy it.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“I am glad you think so,” he replied teasingly. “So, for the next four years, when I am not at school, I will work with my father. And next year we will return to work here again.”

“Oh?” Brigitte replied, the surprise evident in her voice.

“Yeah. So if we become… um… friends, maybe I can see you again then?”

“I think we need to see if we get along first.”

“Well, I think that we are getting along very well, up to now,” Bobby said, leaning in a little towards Brigitte.

Brigitte watched as he leaned towards her, but was unsure how to react. She wanted to lean in as well, to flirt a little more with him, maybe see where else this would go… but this all seemed so fast, and how much could she trust her judgment when she kept getting these butterflies in her stomach whenever he smiled at her?

Bobby must have sensed her hesitation, because he moved back, clearing his throat. “I mean,” he stammered. “I mean, I would like to get to know you. But I like you, up to now.”

Brigitte tried to hide her smile. She couldn’t help but think that he was being genuine and just had a penchant for sticking his foot in his mouth.

 _Well, you only live once,_ Brigitte thought. She had started to lean back in towards him when she heard the door that connected the garage to the house swing open.

“ _Brigitte, why are you still here? I thought—_ ” Maria Bernard had started speaking to her daughter in Spanish before realizing Brigitte was not alone. And that her daughter was sitting suspiciously close to a tall, blond, blue eyed boy. _Simone was right, he is cute_ , she thought momentarily before saying in French, “Oh, I am sorry; I did not know you both were here.”

Brigitte stood, followed hastily by Bobby. “Mama, this is Bobby _Davis_ ,” she said, accentuating the last name. “Bobby, this is my mother, Maria Bernard.”

“It is nice to meet you, Madame Bernard,” Bobby said, holding out his hand.

Maria nodded stiffly, taking his hand. “It is nice to meet you, too.”

There was silence for a moment, until Brigitte broke it. “Bobby planned for us to go on a picnic, but the weather made that impossible. He suggested we go to a café, but I thought we should just have it here so we didn’t waste the food.”

 _You are a sensible girl, aren’t you?_ Maria thought, but just nodded. She looked Bobby up and down one last time, giving him a bit of an evil eye to scare him into keeping his hands to himself, before saying, “Well, I am sorry I interrupted. Please continue. Your papa and I are just inside if you need anything.”

“I know, Mama,” Brigitte responded as Maria turned to leave. Closing the door that connected the house to the garage, Maria got one last look at her daughter. Brigitte was already chatting again with the cute American man, the brief interruption forgotten.

* * *

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“What are you doing?” Brigitte questioned, her face scrunched up as she looked at him with utter disbelief when Bobby began to open the passenger side door of his car.

“I am opening the door for you?” he replied, unsure of why this was offensive to her.

“The cinema is only a twenty minute walk away. And there is nowhere to put a car there. We should just walk.” Brigitte began to walk in the direction of the theater.

“But if I drive, we will be there in less than ten minutes,” Bobby argued, holding steady by the open door.

Bobby watched as Brigitte stopped walking and turned to face him, her hand on her hip and her head slightly cocked. He still could not get over how beautiful she was under all that engine grease and baggy clothing… or how strangely turned on he was by her disgusted looks and quick remarks.

At the end of their ‘picnic’, Bobby had immediately asked her to go out with him again the next day. She gave him an odd look when he suggested dinner and immediately Bobby worried that she had not had as good of a time as he had. He cursed himself for having agreed to have their first date on the floor of the garage rather than insisting on taking her out. He backpedaled and told her that if she wasn’t interested in seeing him again that was okay, but that he had really enjoyed himself and he was sorry about the whole eating in the garage thing. He stopped suddenly when Brigitte grabbed his arm, her hand surprisingly strong when she squeezed. “Bobby,” she said. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Nothing will be open.”

Her look finally clicked for him and he filed ‘everything is closed on Sunday’ away under ‘things that aren’t like America’ in his head. After a round of negotiations, which included Brigitte insisting that she needed time to study, they had finally decided on a movie on Friday night. The intervening week had been torture for Bobby, as he could not get Brigitte out of his head. He would play back every moment of their first date, especially the feel of her cheek pressing against his as she kissed him goodbye. Of course this reminiscing would always come just as his father was trying to give him instructions, resulting in several ‘get your head out of your ass’ lectures that week. 

But his father’s sermons were nowhere near the front of his mind as he stared at the woman before him, who seemed to be set on walking to the theater when they had a perfectly good car. “Come on, Brigitte,” Bobby coaxed. “I know it is okay with the car. Let’s go.”

Brigitte rolled her eyes. “Have you ever been there? It’s in the oldest part of town. I’m telling you Bobby—”

“If we argue, we will miss the show. Let’s just drive. It will be okay.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Well, you can tell me that you told me so.”

Brigitte’s ‘I told you sos’ officially began when they finally, after 20 minutes of driving around, parked the car only a couple blocks from her house and hurriedly walked to the cinema. He noticed that she seemed to enjoy giving him hell over this and, although she was very vocal about it, the grin on her face indicated she wasn’t actually upset. About halfway through the walk, as she was again going over how he was an idiot, he grabbed her hand and said, “You are right. From now on I will do what you say.”

She glanced down at their joined hands before looking back up at him and giving him a smirk. “I like the sound of that. You’re a smart man after all. No wonder you’re going to Yale.”

He held her hand tight the rest of the way to the cinema.

When they finally arrived, the credits had just finished and they hurriedly found seats in the back as the camera panned through a circus scene. Bobby breathed a sigh of relief when he heard a voice call out “ _Right this way, folks! Right this way_!” in English as French subtitles danced across the bottom of the screen.

Bobby settled into his seat and his thoughts immediately went to Brigitte. She was close enough that he could smell the light scent of her soap and he desperately wanted to reach out for her. His fingers twitched as he watched Mae West strut out before an adoring crowd, wearing a figure hugging dress as the circus ring leader worked the crowd up into a frenzy to buy tickets to see the burlesque show.

Brigitte watched as the scene transitioned to West performing a sultry Middle Eastern style dance before her voice rang out, “ _And they call me Sister Honky-tonk._ ” She was questioning what exactly a “ _Honky-tonk”_ was when Bobby shifted and she felt his arm fall around her shoulders. Glancing up at him, she saw the hesitant look on his face. In an effort to reassure him, she snuggled against him… and smiled as a pleasant warmth coursed through her body. At the end of their picnic in the garage, Brigitte had considered giving him a proper kiss. But something made her hesitate, and she had kissed his cheek instead. Now, nestled in his embrace, she felt some of that hesitancy melting away. He seemed sweet, at least most of the time… and she couldn’t deny he was handsome. Settling in to watch the movie, she let herself enjoy the moment and tried not to worry about where this was going.   

Over an hour later Brigitte was bored. She had noticed that Bobby seemed to be much more entertained by the film than she was, seeing him laugh at quite a few of West’s lines. She wondered if something was being lost in the translation because she didn’t understand what was so funny. She was idly drawing shapes on Bobby’s leg to entertain herself as the courtroom scene droned on in the background. 

Bobby shivered, becoming thoroughly distracted from anything that was happening on the screen as Brigitte ran her fingers lightly along his thigh. She normally would keep to the area around his knee, but once or twice she had moved up his leg with her touch and strayed toward his inner thigh. He could feel himself responding and his instincts took over. He nuzzled her neck, laying down light kisses as he took in her scent.

Brigitte gasped as she felt Bobby’s lips press against her, just as she had finished tracing out what she imagined a dodecahedron would look like if laid out flat. He withdrew momentarily and met her eyes and she actually felt her heart skip a beat. It was just like they described it in a romance novel, only, much to her surprise, it was actually happening to her. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and moved her hand to rest lightly against his chest.

When Bobby saw Brigitte’s inviting smile and felt her hand on him, he let out a slow breath of relief. He ran his hand along her face and then around to the nape of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. His heart pounded as he leaned toward her, his attention focused on her lips.

Brigitte felt him draw her nearer to him and she knew he was going to kiss her. A moment of panic mixed with utter elation shot through her and she closed her eyes and waited. Then she felt it, the press of his warm lips against hers in a soft kiss. The movie rattled on in English around her, but she could not care less. She felt Bobby pull back slightly and she opened her eyes. He was looking at her again, asking with his eyes if she wanted more. She responded by moving toward him to initiate another kiss. She felt his tongue against her lips and opened her mouth, mimicking what she had seen in the movies. It was an odd, but pleasurable, sensation and she tried to copy the movements of his tongue with her own. After a moment he broke the kiss off again, lightly biting her lip as he pulled back.

Bobby opened his eyes as he pulled back to see a flushed Brigitte biting the lip he had just had between his own teeth. The desire he felt building in himself threatened to overwhelm him. He’d been on dates and kissed other girls, but it had never been anything like this. There was something about her, something that drove him mad and yet he couldn’t quite define. He wanted to lean in and whisper in her ear that she was amazing and wonderful and beautiful. But he knew how trite that would sound. Instead, he nuzzled her neck again, and was rewarded by her soft sigh. Leaning back he looked into her dark eyes for moment before pressing his lips yet again against her.

They repeated this routine, exploring each other’s lips and necks, each rewarded by the soft moans and gasps of the other, until all too soon the lights to the theater broke them apart.

* * *

“Bobby, I really have to go or I’ll be late for dinner,” Brigitte said as she halfheartedly tried to escape his embrace, having just returned to her house from ice cream and a stroll by the river.

“Please, one more kiss?” Bobby whispered into her ear and then nipped lightly at her neck.

“That is what you said three kisses ago.”

“I cannot help it if you are… irresistible,” he said the last word in a French accent, hoping it was a cognate, before pressing his lips against hers again. Standing on her toes, she kissed him back hungrily, running her hands down his cheeks and then around to the nape of his neck. She shivered as his hands trailed down her back, stopping just short of her rear.

The kiss slowly came to a close and Brigitte leaned back and sighed. “I really do have to go this time,” she said and pushed away from him slightly.

He moaned a little as he let her go. “When can I see you again?”

“I have to go to my aunt and uncle’s for a birthday party on Friday, so I won’t be free until next Saturday,” she replied.

“Maybe I can see you during the week?” Bobby asked hopefully.

“I really need to study, Bobby…” Brigitte trailed off.

“But Saturday is too long to wait,” he pleaded and reached out for her. Wanting to return into his embrace, she didn’t fight him, even though she knew she was going to catch hell from her mother if she was too late.

“Bobby, we just went to the cinema yesterday!  You can wait a week to see me again!”

“But it will be torture!”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” Brigitte said with a small laugh.

Bobby chuckled in return, and then his face grew more serious. “I just… I really like being with you. You are…” he trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

She smiled at him, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I like being with you too, but I really need to study.”

Suddenly, Bobby’s eyes grew wide. “Maybe I can help you study! I am good at history. And if you take an English exam I can help.”

Thinking about it for a moment, Brigitte replied, “Okay, come Wednesday after work. I was planning to study history then.”

“I will be here.”

After sharing one last kiss, Brigitte broke free of his grasp and walked toward her house, only turning back when she reached the gate that lead to the garden. Flashing him a smile she called back, “See you then.”

“Bye!” she heard his voice echo slightly in the street as she slipped into the garden and headed toward the house. As she stepped into the entryway, she was hit by the warm aroma of chorizo wafting from the kitchen. She could see her mother slowly stirring the pan on the stove while her father was on the couch in the living room, reading the paper and listening to a slow song on the radio. They both glanced up as she entered, but her mother’s attention immediately returned to her task. Her father, however, set the paper down.

“Brigitte! How was ice cream?” he asked as he motioned for her to come sit on the couch with him.

Walking to the couch, Brigitte sat, kicking off her shoes and drawing up her legs. “Good,” she replied as she began to riffle through the paper.

“You aren’t going to study now?”

Brigitte looked up at her father. “No, it’s almost dinner time.”

“After dinner?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Brigitte threw down the ‘local’ section she had finally fished out of the pile. “Papa, I studied all morning. Can’t I take half a day off?”

Rather than answering her question, he asked another. “Are you going to see him again?”

Brigitte wanted to scream. Taking a deep breath, she said through clenched teeth, “Yes, he’s coming over Wednesday. He’s actually going to help me study for the history exam.”

Phillippe looked slightly shocked at that, much to Brigitte’s delight. She was waiting for him to respond when suddenly, the sound of dishes stopped. “He comes here?” Maria asked, crossing the short distance from the kitchen table to the living room.

“Yes.” Brigitte responded, curious as to why this was an issue. She’d had friends come to the house before.

“He does not go into your room, understood?” Maria added before she headed back to the kitchen.

Brigitte rolled her eyes and called back, “Yes, Mama _.” What kind of girl does she think I am?_ she wondered. Although the idea of Bobby on her bed did hold a certain je ne sais quoi.

“Don’t you think you’re spending too much time with him before exams?” Her father’s voice cut into her reverie.

 _Ah, finally we’ve arrived at the point_. “Papa, I can handle this. I’m still studying every day.”

“I know, I just don’t want you to get too distracted. You’ve worked hard for a long time for this.”

“Papa, please, I _can_ handle this.” Brigitte reiterated.

Her father sighed and continued in a soft voice, despite her protestations, “It’ll already be hard enough for you as a woman and being from a working family… If what you want is to be a engineer, don’t let this distract you.”

Before Brigitte could reply, Maria’s voice rang through the house, calling them to the table for dinner. Brigitte stood and began towards the kitchen, but Philippe caught her hand. “I know you like him. Just… be careful.”

“Papa… It’s fine. Really. Stop worrying about me.” Brigitte replied.

There was a long pause as their eyes met. In her father’s look, there was a mix of emotions that Brigitte could not quite identify. Sadness? Pride? Before she could consider it much longer, he squeezed her hand. “Come on, let’s get some dinner.”

* * *

Brigitte’s week so far had been nothing but a series of escalating frustrations.

On Monday, her chemistry lab partner had been his usual jerk self, constantly questioning her ability to do even the most simple of procedures and calculations. This had continued until she snapped at him, bringing the room to a hush. She was thus rewarded by being asked to stay after class for a lecture on how it wasn’t ladylike to yell at her lab partner and how, as a woman, she needed to let the men lead the experiments when they wanted to and not argue.

Then on Tuesday, she received a poor score on her math practice exam and was asked to stay after to discuss it. This lead to the teacher insinuating that maybe this path just wasn’t right for Brigitte. As usual, it was heavily implied that her poor performance was due to her gender alone, and thus tutoring would be of little help. As she had walked home that night she had cursed her seeming inability to remember the trigonometric identities.

And today she was stuck inside, on a beautiful evening, studying her most hated subject: history. She had always found memorization difficult, being more attuned to problem solving than rote methods of learning. And history was just one big exercise in memorization.

She stared blankly at the list of names, places, and events she needed to know about for the exam and wanted to pound the kitchen table. Why were the lives of all these dead men so damn important?

A knock at the door broke her ever-worsening state of mind. A smile broke out across her face as she realized it was just before six… and thus Bobby was here. Her spirits lifted, she rose and nearly skipped across the room to the door, opening it to indeed find Bobby on the other side.

“Good evening,” he said, producing a yellow rose from behind his back.

She smiled and took it, inhaling its scent deeply. “Thank you,” she said, kissing him in greeting and gesturing for him to enter.

Bobby stepped into the house and paused. He had always known that Brigitte lived more… modestly… than he did, but he wasn’t quite prepared for how modestly. The front door opened up into a small living room, filled to the brim with well-worn furniture and other items. He could see past the living room to the kitchen, which, from his vantage point, only housed a simple wooden table, covered in books and papers, and a stove. There was obviously no formal dining in this house. To his left stretched a hall and he could see that it led only to two bedrooms. “Your house is very nice,” Bobby said, appreciating the tidy simplicity of it all.

“Thank you,” Brigitte replied as she led him to the kitchen table. He watched as she busied herself finding a glass to put the flower in. He was amazed how much he had missed her over the last couple days. Often he would find himself thinking of her at work, especially if his task was particularly mindless. He wondered what was wrong with him, how he could have fallen so hard and fast for a girl he had only met a couple weeks before.

She turned and smiled at him, placing the flower on the table, and it took all of Bobby’s restraint not to reach out for her. Walking around the table, she sat at the epicenter of the books and papers and Bobby took the seat next to her.

“What are you studying?” Bobby asked, trying to read her scribbles on the nearest piece of paper.

“Nineteenth century history,” Brigitte sighed. “I’m trying to memorize the terms on this list.”

Bobby picked up the list she handed him, noting that she had already provided information for each of the terms. He recognized some of them from his history classes, but others were new to him. “Okay,” he began. “How can I help?”

“Maybe quiz me? Ask me to define the terms?”

Bobby smiled. “Yes, okay,” he said and began to read from the paper.

For around an hour they continued like this, Bobby reading a word and then seeing if Brigitte’s explanation matched what she had written on her list. However, he watched as she began to get tired and frustrated, and therefore began making mistakes. And the more terms she forgot the more frustrated she became.

“Okay, what are Ferry Laws?” Bobby asked. As usual, there was a pause while Brigitte thought and Bobby read the information provided. This time, however, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Brigitte had buried her head in her folded arms on the table.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I’m so bad at this.”

He reached out and placed a hand on her upper arm. “You are smart. You can remember the words.”

She rotated her head to look at him. “No, I can’t! On top of that, there are all the other subjects… and the teachers questioning me because I’m a girl…” she trained off and buried her head with a groan.

“ _Really_?” Bobby blurted out in English, before continuing in French. “Your teachers say that?”

“Yes… sometimes…” Brigitte muttered from the crook of her arms.

“Sometimes…?” Bobby prompted.

Picking her head back up, Brigitte sighed. “Nothing. What was the stupid term again?”

Bobby set down the paper and took her hand. “Tell me, please? What is wrong?”

A long moment passed before Brigitte answered him. “Sometimes I just get so tired of fighting. I wonder if it’s worth it or if I should just get married and have babies like everyone expects.”

“I… Brigitte,” he paused, trying to translate his thoughts into French. He thought of the long hours he spent in the steel mill and how, in a lot of ways, she was freer to follow her passions that he was. “You need to do what you want. Do not do what others want… you will not be happy.”

She smiled at him, weakly. “I know. I just get frustrated sometimes.”

Bobby nodded. “I understand. Here,” he said as he stood and walked around behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “This will help.”

Brigitte let out an involuntary groan as Bobby’s thumbs worked into the large, tense muscles of her back. She sat up straight, giving him better access to the tight muscles that lined the top of her shoulders and her neck. The room was silent except for the slight gasps and moans that would occasionally escape her lips when he would hit a particularly tight spot.

She shivered slightly as his fingers brushed against her neck, gathering her hair and moving it over her right shoulder, leaving the left side of her neck exposed. His fingers made long strokes down the side of her neck and she took a deep breath, relishing the moment even as her brain reminded her that they needed to return to studying.

All thoughts of history terms were suddenly forgotten as she felt his lips press against her neck, slowly working their way up to her ear. “You are smart, please believe it,” he whispered. Brigitte opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder at him, before grabbing his face with her hands and kissing him. The position was a bit awkward, so she broke contact for a moment, shoving him back toward his chair.

“ _What’s going on?_ ” Bobby asked in English, before remembering himself and repeating the question in French.

Smiling, having understood both times, Brigitte responded, “I just think a proper study break is in order.”

She then moved herself over to his lap, both of her legs dangling to one side. Wrapping her arms around him, she began kissing him again. They stayed like that for several minutes, exploring each other, until Brigitte heard the gate to the yard slam shut. With a speed that would amaze Bobby for years to come, Brigitte slid back into her chair and shoved the notes back into his hands only moments before Brigitte’s mother walked through the front door, her arms full of groceries.

“Hi, Mama,” Brigitte called out, maybe too innocently.

“Madame Bernard.” Bobby reflexively stood. “Can I help you with the bags?”

“No, thank you, Bobby,” she replied as she made her way into the kitchen.

“What is the next term?”

Bobby turned his attention back to Brigitte, and then to finding where exactly they had left off. “Um, Ferry Laws?”

“I don’t know, can you give me a hint?” Brigitte asked with a smirk.

“School?”

“Oh! Compulsory education laws!” Brigitte said, and then began to rattle off facts about them until her mother disappeared into the garage. Suddenly stopping and letting out a sigh of relief, Brigitte turned to him. “While I may enjoy that method of ‘studying’ I don’t think it will help me pass my exams,” she said smiling at him. “Not to mention hearing my mama nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Bobby laughed, his face a little flushed. “Yes. To be like that when your mother comes home… It is not good.”

“That’s an understatement.” Brigitte took the notes from him before continuing, “You might want to head out now. If she or my papa comes back in they are likely to try to interrogate you for information regarding your intentions toward me.”

Bobby looked puzzled for a moment, given Brigitte’s choice of words. Then his eyes grew wide. “Ah, they will ask me many questions. They will want to know if I am good for you.”

Brigitte nodded. “Exactly.”

“Well, maybe we will do this another day.” Bobby said as he stood.

Brigitte followed, and soon they were in the garden, surrounded by the warm summer night. “Can I help with studying again?” Bobby asked, placing his hands on Brigitte’s hips and drawing her near to him.

“Yes… but next time I think we need to do more studying and less kissing.”

Bobby laughed. “Is it okay to kiss you now?”

“Well, we are not within a meter of my books, so yes, kiss me.”

Taking her face in his hands, he complied with her request.

* * *

“Okay Bobby, just a little further… and… stop!” Brigitte called out as Bobby backed his car into the garage. Sliding into her grey coveralls, glad she had decided to wear trousers tonight, Brigitte watched as Bobby got out of the car. “This will only take a couple minutes, then we can go,” she said, kicking the creeper toward the front of the car.

Bobby tried to take Brigitte into a hug, but she squirmed impatiently out of his grasp. She kicked her creeper over to the car and laid down on the wheeled board. He had to smile a little at this situation, waiting for his date to finish examining the front wheel drive system of his car before they could go out for dinner on a Saturday night. And the fact that at the moment she was far more interested in the vehicle than in him. He watched as she slid under the car, and waited for… well, he wasn’t quite sure what. Finally, curiosity got the better of him. “What are you doing?”

“This is the first front wheel drive car I’ve ever gotten a chance to look at. I want to see how it’s laid out.” Brigitte called from under the car.

“Can I see?” Bobby asked, having turned himself partially upside down to peer under the car.

Brigitte turned her head to see Bobby’s face smiling at her. “Um, sure. You can put on my papa’s coveralls, but I only have one creeper. The other broke a few days ago.”

She watched as Bobby’s face went from pleased to confused. “I did not understand most of that.” 

 Sighing, Brigitte slid back out from under the car. She walked over to the coat rack and grabbed her father’s coveralls, handing them to Bobby. “These are called coveralls. Put them on so you don’t ruin your clothes.”

“Coveralls,” he repeated as he slipped them on.

“And this is a creeper,” she said, pointing to the wheeled board on the floor. “We had two, but one of the wheels broke on my papa’s and we haven’t fixed it yet. So one of us will have to crawl.”

Bobby nodded, then a devilish smirk crossed his face. “I think we can go on yours… together.”

Brigitte was about to argue about how stupid that was when the thought of Bobby pressed up against her on the narrow board stopped her in her tracks. “You know, I think you’re right. Come on.”

Brigitte got back on the board and scooted to one side. Once she was somewhat settled, she motioned for Bobby to get on as well. Locking her left arm with his right, she laid back and said, “Feet up!”

Feeling his weight shift, Brigitte pushed against the ground with her own feet and they slid under the car. “You can put your feet down,” she said, pulling out her flashlight.

“So, what are we looking at?” Bobby asked, trying to stay focused on the car rather than Brigitte’s intoxicating proximity.

“Well, see that?” Brigitte said, pointing with the flashlight toward the front of the car.

“Yes.”

“That is the gear box. Normally, in a rear wheel drive car, that would be placed behind the engine, near the rear wheels. Here, it’s in front. Also…” she said as her flashlight grazed across the center of the car, from front to back, “there is no driveshaft or rear differential. Everything is up front.”

Bobby watched as she pointed out these parts of the car, trying in his mind to drudge up everything he knew in English about cars to translate what she was saying. “Is it good?” Bobby asked.

“Well, it means the car is lighter. And there is more interior space… But the two configurations handle differently due to the different weight distributions. I don’t know that you can say it’s good or bad.”

“Ah,” Bobby merely replied, having missed a chunk in the middle of that explanation. As Brigitte continued to talk excitedly about the underside of the car, his lack of understanding coupled with the proximity of his lips to her neck was driving him to distraction. While she was explaining the difference between a live and dead axle, he finally gave in, laying a kiss down on her neck and nuzzling her.

“Are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?” Brigitte said when she felt his lips on her. Turning to face him, she saw him smile.

“Of course I am. But you talk about the car… and you are even more beautiful.”

“Uh huh.” Brigitte responded with a grin. “I’m sure that must be it.”

“I do not lie.” Bobby whispered, laying a light kiss on her lips.

Closing her eyes and drinking in the sensation, Brigitte found herself suddenly, and quite unusually, uninterested in the car. As she dropped her flashlight and returned the kiss, she couldn't help wondering just why it was that he had such an effect on her. Bobby's hand stroked her cheek gently and Brigitte sighed into the kiss. Bobby pulled back and Brigitte felt him shift, trying to move closer to her, struggling to maintain his precarious position on the rolling board. She closed her eyes, awaiting the return of his lips on hers, when suddenly she heard Bobby let out a grunt and the creeper tilted under her. 

Opening her eyes, she saw Bobby half on the ground, laughing. “That…” he paused as though he was searching for words, but then he just sighed. “I wish I spoke French better,” he lamented as he looked at her from his awkward position. “And I wish… I could get up!”

Brigitte let out a laugh as she laid her hand on his chest to stop him from struggling. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll come to you.” Pushing him the rest of the way off the creeper, Brigitte rolled herself so she was also free before launching it away. Lying on her side, she reached out for him and he met her halfway, rolling slightly.

She clutched at the rough cotton of Bobby’s coveralls as they kissed. Bobby's hands slid around her, pulling her against the length of his body.

As she trailed her hands down his body, Bobby groaned, his fingers digging into Brigitte's sides. " _Oh God_ , Brigitte," Bobby gasped in English.

Brigitte giggled, causing Bobby to pull back.

"What is it?" He sounded out of breath.

"Distracted?" she whispered, her lips mere millimeters from his.

Pulling away from her again, Bobby took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. "What? What... do you mean?"

She kissed him, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and biting softly before answering. "It's cute." Brigitte smiled at him.

Bobby groaned and closed his eyes, trying to focus. "What is?"

"How you get too distracted to remember any French when I kiss you,” she responded, pressing her lips against his again.

Bobby’s mind was racing, his thoughts torn between the lithe body pressed against him and trying to understand the French said body was producing. " _Damn it,_ Brigitte _. Don't make me speak French right now_..."

She grinned. "See? It’s okay, I understand what you are saying well enough."

Bobby smiled and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her with him as he rolled on to his back. Brigitte, slightly surprised to find herself laying on top of him, pulled back slightly. " _You’re not okay with this_?" he asked, still speaking in English.

“No,” she breathed, in French. “No, it’s… good.” She smiled as his hands returned to her back, and began to trace lower. Bringing her attention back to his lips, Brigitte kissed him hungrily. She felt her blood coursing through her body and she moved her hips, almost involuntarily, against him. Bobby groaned and pushed up against her before breaking away to kiss down her neck. Brigitte noticed his hands kept stopping short of her rear, and she whispered to him, “Lower, please."

He paused, clearly uncertain of what she meant. “Your hands,” she clarified, before hungrily kissing him again. She felt his hands, at first hesitant, come to rest on her. But as their kisses became more frenzied, so too did his hands, kneading her in a way she found strangely enjoyable.

She was, however, hoping to feel his hands on some other parts of her body. Her hand was moving towards the zipper on her coveralls when she heard the door that connected the house to the garage swing open. “Brigitte?” her father’s voice called.

Freezing, Brigitte tried to calm her voice before responding. “Yes?”

In the pause that followed, Brigitte silently extricated herself from Bobby. “Are you under the car?” came her father’s voice, incredulous.

“Yes. I wanted to see the front wheel drive system before we went to dinner.”

“Oh… well, I was just going to lock up. But you can do that when you leave?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Okay. Well, have fun tonight.”

“Thanks,” she responded, before adding, “I’ll be home by ten.”

“Okay.” Finally, thankfully, she heard the door shut.

Next to her, Bobby let out the long breath he had no doubt been holding. “Brigitte…" he said, shaking his head. “We must stop kissing in your house. Your parents… they are everywhere!”

Laughing, Brigitte started crawling out from under the car. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

* * *

“It’s about time you got here! We barely have enough time to eat. Where were you?” Simone demanded as Brigitte walked into the small apartment Simone shared with her husband. The two regularly took advantage of the apartment’s proximity to Brigitte’s school to meet for lunch.

“I had some questions after math class… and Monsieur Pascal was patronizing as always,” Brigitte responded, dropping her bag by the door before joining her cousin in the kitchen.

“Well, I’d love to help you with math… but you know how that will go,” Simone offered with a laugh.

Brigitte smiled. “Yes. But I do have another essay for you to read. History this time.”

“Fun. What is the topic? Oh, and chop up these vegetables for the salad,” Simone said as she checked on the food in the oven.

“Compare and contrast the French and American Revolutions.”

Simone nodded. “When do you want me to give it back to you by?”

Looking up, Brigitte replied, “Tomorrow, if at all possible. It’s due Friday,” before returning her focus on chopping all the vegetables to the same dimensions.

“Due Friday? Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?”

Brigitte laughed a bit. “Just a little. But I’ve been… distracted.”

“Bobby?”

Brigitte sighed. “Yes, Bobby.”

“Just how much time have you been spending with him?” Simone asked, hefting a casserole out of the oven. “I ran into you two before you went out. And again yesterday when he visited the garage after work.”

Brigitte rolled her eyes at her cousin as she tossed the vegetables into a bowl. “Simone, you sound like my papa.”

“Why? What did he say?”

“That I should be concentrating on my studies and not gallivanting about town with Bobby.”

Simone laughed. “Did he actually say ‘gallivanting’? I can’t really picture that.”

“Of course he didn’t… it was implied.”

A moment of silence followed as the pair brought the food over to the table, sitting down and serving themselves. Finally, Simone spoke again. “He’s not totally wrong.”

“Who? Papa?”

“Yes. I mean… I’m so happy that you finally have a boyfriend, but…” Simone trailed off before taking another bite.

“But what?” Brigitte snapped when it was clear that Simone was not going to finish that sentence.

“Well, just don’t change your plans because of him, okay?”

Brigitte huffed. “Why do you think I would? I’m not going to just drop everything just because I like Bobby.”

“I know. But--”

Brigitte cut her cousin off. “I’m sick of everyone trying to tell me what’s best for me! I can handle this thing with Bobby! Why is it so impossible for everyone to believe that I can spend time with him and still pass these exams? I’m not an idiot. I can budget my time.”

Simone looked at her cousin for a long moment, as though just waiting for Brigitte to get it all out of her system. “That wasn’t what I was talking about exactly,” she said, returning her attention to her cooking.

“Then what, Simone?”

“I just… I want you to be careful of _having_ to marry him.”

Brigitte looked confused for a second before her eyes went wide. “Oh. We… we are not even close to _that_.”

“You’ll get there quicker than you think.”

Brigitte paused for a moment, looking around almost conspiratorially. “Well… if we do get _there…_ eventually… how do I keep from getting pregnant?”

Simone laughed, the seriousness of the mood breaking a little. “Well, the only way to keep from getting pregnant is not to do _it_.”

“But you’re married and you don’t have a baby. You can’t tell me the two of you don’t do _it_ ,” Brigitte responded.

“Oh, we do. But Jean… he, um, pulls out before he is done.”

Brigitte looked pensive for a moment. “Huh. Well, that would make sense. And seems easy enough.”

“Oh, Brigitte, no, no, no. It doesn’t always work! I have a friend who got pregnant anyway doing that. And men… sometimes it happens before they expect it. Especially when they are eighteen.”

Brigitte let out a sigh. “Okay. Well, like I said, we are a long ways from _that_.”

Simone nodded while she chewed. After she swallowed, she looked back up at Brigitte with a grin. “Where exactly _are_ the two of you?” 

Brigitte gave a shy smile before answering. “You know… just kissing.”

“Just?”

“Well, mostly just,” Brigitte said with an uncharacteristic giggle, which in turn caused Simone to laugh.

“Brigitte, you are just about glowing. It is so cute.”

Brigitte put her head in her hands with an embarrassed groan. “Can we talk about something else now? I’d hate to still be ‘glowing’ when I get back to school.”

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later, Brigitte was once again distracted by Bobby. She was straddling his lap, kissing him urgently as his hands slid around her. They were in his car with the top down, near the meadow where they were supposed to be having a picnic on that Sunday afternoon. However, they had become distracted with each other before they could actually exit the car, leading to their current arrangement.   

The sun warmed her skin through the light summer dress she wore and she felt Bobby’s hand trace around her ribs and then up toward her breast. The sensations of the sun and his touch thrilled her and she leaned back, creating room between them for his hands to continue their exploration. Brigitte moaned as his hand reached her breast. She leaned back just a little further then shrieked at the sudden explosion of noise as her rear end came firmly in contact with the horn of the car. Brigitte jumped forward and Bobby grabbed her to keep them both from toppling over. After the shock wore off she looked down at Bobby, just then noticing he was giggling. At first she was angered by his reaction, laughing at her, but one look at his face washed that anger away and she joined him in laughing.

Bobby grinned up at her. “We finally have privacy. I did not know that even the car would try to keep us apart.”

Brigitte smiled and leaned back in, kissing him softly. “You know, if I just had my tools, I could just take this damn thing off,” she said, still chuckling a little at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“The… the steering wheel?’ Bobby asked incredulously, taking a moment to remember the French word. _He was getting much better_ , Brigitte thought distractedly.

“I’d put it back when we were done.” She smiled at him and leaned back in for a kiss.  He grinned back, sliding his hands into her hair. Unfortunately, the steering wheel hadn’t gone anywhere. After running up against it again, she tried to shift in his lap, but to no avail. Frustrated, she started to move off of him but Bobby grabbed her by the hips.

“Brigitte…”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Bobby, just sit in the damn passenger seat where there isn’t a wheel poking me in the ass!” 

Bobby looked up at her apologetically. “Um, okay, sure.” He started trying to scoot over, but found it difficult between Brigitte, the steering wheel, and the gear shift.

“Just get out of the car and walk around. There is really no need to make this more difficult.”

“If I am going to get out of the car, we should just lay out on the blanket,” Bobby challenged, still trying to scoot over.

“Bobby, are you going to argue with me or are you just going to hurry up and sit in this seat so we can get back to making out?”

“I am…” Bobby grunted as he tried to untangle his leg. “I am going to kiss you so hard once I get over there!”

Brigitte laughed and moved to sit up on the collapsed roof to allow Bobby more room to maneuver. Finally in the passenger seat, Bobby grabbed Brigitte and pulled her back down onto his lap. Returning her attention to Bobby’s mouth, she felt him groan when her full lips met his. Meanwhile, his hands were busy exploring other parts of her body. Brigitte shivered as he slid his hand slowly up her thigh, pushing her skirt higher as he went. His fingertips dragged over her stockings, the friction tugging slightly at her skin. About halfway up her thigh, his fingers finally met her bare skin and her breath caught in her throat. He traced the hem of the stocking, sliding his fingers over the top and underneath.

The kiss ended as Brigitte grew too distracted by Bobby’s hand to continue. Their eyes met, and Bobby fumbled blindly with her stocking. Finally unclasping it successfully, Bobby pulled the stocking down to her knee and slid his hand back up her thigh. His hand came to rest near the top of her thigh and Brigitte gasped as he drew soft circles with his thumb on her inner thigh.

Bobby slid his other hand up her spine, pulling her to him and resuming the kiss. Brigitte moaned softly against his mouth. His thumb moved a little higher and she moaned louder. Her breathing was getting faster and she felt a warmth building in her belly. She instinctively started moving her hips against him.

All of a sudden, Bobby’s fingers brushed the front of her underwear and Brigitte froze. She swallowed, drawing away from him and trying to calm her breathing.

“Bobby… that’s…” She wasn’t quite sure how to tell him that that was further than she wanted right now, but her hesitation came through clearly.

“ _Sorry_ …” he whispered in English. He removed his hand from under her skirt and tried to pull it back down as much as he could, considering that she was still straddling him. He then said in French, “I want what you want.”

She smiled and he saw the tension melt from her.  He closed his eyes as she stroked his face and softly kissed him. His hands slid around her back and held her close. The feel of her body pushed against his, of her skin under his hands, the taste of her lips... It was all threatening to overwhelm him. Bobby felt himself straining against his pants, and he shifted slightly to try to relive the pressure. He couldn’t tell if Brigitte had noticed it, but he desperately wanted her to touch him.

Keeping one hand on the small of her back, he reached with the other to take one of her hands from around his neck. He hesitantly guided it down to his crotch and looked at her questioningly, his eyes asking if she wanted to proceed. She nodded and he groaned involuntarily when her hand slid over his erection.

Brigitte sat back slightly and looked down at where her hand rested on him. Although she had come in contact with it the other night, this was the first time she had actually felt it. She looked at him hesitantly, unsure of what exactly he wanted her to do now that she had him in her hand.

“Brigitte,” Bobby began hesitantly, “Can I open my pants? I want…” he trailed off, unsure of how to explain to her what he wanted.

Brigitte looked hesitant for a moment, but then nodded as she unbuttoned his trousers. Moving the fabric aside, she could see the shape of him through the white underwear. Running her fingers along him she heard him gasp. Brigitte was surprised by how hard this part of his body felt and wrapped her hand around him experimentally.

Bobby had leaned back and closed his eyes, overcome by the feeling of Brigitte’s hand on him, even with his underwear still in the way. She squeezed slightly and he moaned, but then… nothing. Opening his eyes he saw her looking at him, asking him with her eyes what he wanted her to do. Realizing that his French wasn’t going to save him now, he put his hand over hers, trying to show her how to stroke it. Brigitte obliged, staring at him curiously as she did so.

Bobby leaned back and another moan escaped his lips. He couldn’t believe how good this felt, significantly better than when he did it to himself. He was totally immersed in the sensation when he felt her finger accidently slip through the opening in his underwear. Although she immediately retracted her hand, when her finger came in contact with his hot skin for the first time, everything rocketed out of control. His hips moved suddenly and a strangled groan escaped his lips.

Brigitte watched as Bobby’s expression went from one of absolute rapture, to surprise, to a kind of disappointed embarrassment. Unsure of what just happened, she continued stroking over his shorts until he grabbed her hand to stop her.

“ _Stop_ …” Bobby murmured again automatically in English.

Still confused, Brigitte asked, “What happened?”

“I…” Bobby realized that he didn’t know any French words to describe it. “I do not know how to say it,” he explained. “I… I finished? Do you understand?”

“Oh. You, uh, had an orgasm.”

Bobby let out a laugh at hearing the word that sounded exactly like the English version. “You know, we use the same word in English. I should have just said that. You would have known exactly what I meant.”

Brigitte smiled and slid off of Bobby, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “It’s okay, I understand now. Do you want to eat?” Brigitte said, trying to change the subject.

“Um, I would like to, uh, clean up.” Bobby said hesitantly. “I will go over by those bushes… can you get the food? Is that okay?”

“Yes, of course, go ahead.”

After a few minutes they reconvened for a lunch of leftover roast chicken, white bean salad, and bread that Brigitte had provided. Sitting down next to her, Bobby gave her a kiss on the cheek as she poured him a glass of wine. “I am sorry about that,” he said as she handed him the beverage.

“Don’t worry about it. I was getting hungry anyway.”

Bobby knew she was telling only half the truth, but appreciated her gesture nonetheless. After dishing some salad onto his plate, he took a bite. “Wow, this is really good. You made it?”

“No, my mama made it.”

“Your mama is a very good cook. Has she taught you?” Bobby asked.

“She tries, but I’m typically not very interested. I guess I will need to learn so I can feed myself one day.”

“Or marry a man who can cook.”

“Can you cook?”

“You want to marry me?”

Brigitte flushed. “Well, it’s a little early for that… but I like to keep my options open. Consider this part of the application process,” she retorted with a flirty grin.

Bobby laughed. “I can cook a little. At home we have someone who cooks for us. But one summer I got interested and she taught me how to make some dishes.”

“You have a cook?” Brigitte said, a bit surprised.

“Yeah. My mom grew up with one, so she cannot cook. But when my dad found out I was helping in the kitchen… I was in so much trouble.”

“For helping? I can’t imagine I would ever get in trouble for helping,” Brigitte replied, taking in a mouth full of bean salad.

“My dad… he has ideas about what is right for his son. For example, women are in the kitchen and men work. That is why I got in trouble.”

Brigitte let out a snort. “Oh. He probably doesn’t approve of me working on cars then, does he?”

“I do not know. I have not told him.”

“Have you told him anything about me?” Brigitte asked, trying to hide the hurt in her voice.

Bobby paused, wondering how to explain that it was not a reflection of his feelings for Brigitte that he had not told his father about her, but rather a reflection of what a total asshole his father was. “He is not interested in my life, unless it has to do with work. He… does not want to hear about these things.”

A silence fell over them and they finished eating, only interrupted by the chirping of birds in the distance. Bobby collected their dishes and put them back in the basket before stretching out on the blanket. Lying down next to him, Brigitte placed her head on his shoulder and idly traced shapes on his belly.

“I was thinking, after what happened earlier, there are a lot of words I do not know in French that I may need to know now that we are dating,” Bobby said, breaking the silence.

“What, like ‘carburetor’?” Brigitte asked.

“No, no, I mean words they do not teach you in school.”

“They taught you ‘carburetor’?”

Bobby laughed. “No… that is a cognate. But that is not what I meant.” He leaned in close to her, his mouth only inches from her. “I know this,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them and kissed her softly, “is a kiss,”

Brigitte smiled at him. “Correct.”

“But there are other things I don’t know.” He ran his hands along her stomach and then up over her ribs to cup the mounds on her chest. “What do you call these?”

“There are many words. But the proper word is ‘breasts’,” she replied with a smile, yet again enjoying the feel of his hands on her.

“And this?” he said motioning to the area between her legs.

A little embarrassed, she replied, “Vagina. But it also has many names.”

“It’s interesting, that is true in English too. For example, _penis_ , do you know this word?”

“Yes, it’s the same in French,” Brigitte replied, again looking a little embarrassed before saying the word for him with the proper accent.

“Well, the penis had many names, _cock, dick, schlong_...”

“ _Schlong_?” Brigitte laughed. “That sounds like the German word for snake!”

“It is Yiddish I think… ” Bobby watched as Brigitte continued to laugh. Feeling something well up in him at that sound, he ran his hand along her face and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I did not know you speak German,” he said, finally pulling his attention away from her smiling face and back to her words.

“Some. We have to learn it in school.”

“So you learned English _and_ German in school?” he questioned.

“And Latin.” She paused for a moment, “Oh, and I also know Spanish because it is my mama’s first language.”

Bobby was surprised by this. “Wow. I just learned French. And not very well.”

“Your French is better than any of my languages. Well, except maybe Spanish, but that’s because that’s what my mama uses half the time, so I have a lot of practice.”

“Well, now I have a very good reason to practice French.” He smiled at her and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

“Well, by that logic I should be more motivated to speak English,” Brigitte replied, snuggling closer, trying to bring herself in as much contact with him as possible.

“Do you want to practice English?” Bobby asked.

“Maybe. A lot of scientific papers are written in English and in German, so it would be good if I could read and write well in both languages. I think I am going to take some courses at university to try to improve my proficiency.”

“Well, if you want to speak in English, I can help you.” He then laughed and turned to look back up at the sky. “You have suffered with my French.”

Brigitte got up on her elbow and took Bobby’s face in her hands. “Stop doubting yourself. Your French is beautiful. I love listening to you speak French.”

A smile slowly spread across Bobby’s face. “Thank you. And I want to hear more of your English.”

“One day we will try talking only in English and see how it goes, how about that?” Brigitte asked, settling back down into his arms. “If nothing else, it will be good practice for my exam.”

“Okay. However, I have another vocabulary question.”

“Okay.”

“How do you say… what men and women do… when they are in bed? It is called _sex_ in English.” The moment he said the word in English Brigitte pulled away from him.

“ _Bobby_ …” Brigitte said warningly. 

“I am not suggesting anything! It was just a question. And I assume the word is the same in French.”

Still not looking very pleased, Brigitte replied, “It’s the same.”

“Come here,” Bobby said and pulled her back into his arms. “One more question.”

“What is it now?”

“I wanted to know if you wanted to…” he paused until she looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed suspiciously. Once he had her full attention he continued, “If you wanted to kiss me.”

Her face suddenly shifted into an annoyed grin and she shoved him playfully. “You pig!” she laughed, before pressing her lips to his. 

* * *

 It was past eleven when Bobby softly closed the front door of his house. After his time with Brigitte in the countryside, they’d returned to her house to grab her books and spend a few hours studying history in a café while sharing a late dinner. Bobby chuckled as he recalled Brigitte’s consternation at his not allowing her to pay for her half of the meal. Didn’t she know the man was supposed to pay?

He’d dropped her off at her house a bit before ten, but it had taken them over half an hour to say goodbye… and then there was the drive back to his house.

Bobby could see the light coming from his father’s study and hoped that if he was just quiet enough, he could get upstairs and his father wouldn’t realize he was only now coming home. As Bobby creeped across the foyer, he realized he hadn’t really told his father where he was going, or even that he was going out.

But he also thought he’d be home much earlier.

He was almost up the stairs when he heard it.

“Get your ass down here! Where the hell have you been!?”

Slowly turning, he saw his father’s silhouette standing in the doorway to his study. As he moved back down the stairs, Bobby responded, “Um, I was in town.”

“You were in town? Until after eleven? What on Earth were you doing?”

“I…” Bobby stammered, not really sure how much he wanted to tell his dad. He hadn’t yet mentioned Brigitte to him, both due to a lack of opportunity and not knowing how his father would take him getting involved with a local girl.

Before Bobby could continue, his father cut in. “Spit it out, boy! What were you doing? Getting into trouble? I swear, you are the poster child for ‘idle hands are the devil’s workshop’!”

With that, Bobby lost his patience. He yelled back, “No, Dad! I wasn’t getting into trouble! I was with my girlfriend.” _Girlfriend?_ he thought, only in that moment realizing that she was indeed his girlfriend… not just some girl he was seeing.

Robert rolled his eyes. “Bobby, we’ve been here a month and you already have a girlfriend?”

“Yes. Her name’s Brigitte.”

In the dim light, he saw his father shake his head. “When the hell did you meet ‘Brigitte’?”

“When I got the flat tire repaired several weeks ago. Her father owns the mechanic’s shop.”

“You’re dating the daughter of a mechanic?”

“Is that a problem?” Bobby asked, a little defensively.

“Look, Bobby, I don’t care. If it makes you happy, fine. But don’t let your dick get in the way of business.”

Slightly stunned, Bobby opened and shut his mouth a couple times, not really knowing how to respond. However a response was made unnecessary when his father continued. “Maybe I haven’t been strict enough with you. You are expected home every night by ten. You are to be to work every morning at eight and to stay at work until five. Do you understand?”

Trying to stand tall, Bobby responded with a simple, “Yes.”

“Alright, get to bed.” Bobby turned and had begun up the stairs when he heard his father mutter to himself. “But for the love of God, don’t get her pregnant.” 

* * *

 “Hello?” Bobby called out in French as he entered the garage. It was a warm Thursday evening and although he knew he was officially here to help Brigitte study history again, he hoped that they might be able to take a walk along the river when they were done. “Hello? Brigitte?” he called out again, having received no answer to his first greeting.

“She’s inside getting cleaned up,” a disembodied male voice responded. Bobby knew immediately that it was Brigitte’s father. He blushed automatically, recalling that the only time he’d heard the man’s voice before, Bobby had had his hand on Brigitte’s ass.

Phillippe came out from the office, wiping his hands on a red rag. “Bobby, right?” he asked, offering a hand.

“Yes, sir.” Bobby responded, grasping Phillippe’s hand firmly, but really having no idea where to take the conversation from there. Truth be told, he had never gotten far enough along in the dating process to have to ‘meet the parents.’

Fortunately, Phillippe didn’t seem too interesting in grilling him. “What do you two have planned for tonight?”

“I am going to help Brigitte study for the history exam, sir.”

Phillippe chuckled slightly. “She sure does hate history, doesn’t she?”

“It is not a favorite,” Bobby replied, still not feeling terribly at ease.

Luckily, he was rescued by the appearance of Brigitte. “Bobby!” She had a big grin on her face and her school bag slung over her shoulder.

“Not studying here?” Phillippe asked.

“No, we are going to _La Note_ so we aren’t in Mama’s way in the kitchen,” Brigitte said as she motioned for Bobby to follow her out of the garage.

“Okay,” her father replied with a small laugh. “Well, make sure you get some studying done and be home by ten!” Phillippe called after them.

Once they were out of earshot, Bobby said, “Just so there is no argument, I am paying again.”

Brigitte narrowed her eyes. “I can pay for myself, you know.”

Bobby smiled in the face of her cool stare. “I know. I like to…” He paused and searched for the phrase in French. “Treat you.”

He watched as her glare slowly turned into a grin. “Alright, but someday you’ll let me pay, okay?”

“No, not okay,” he replied. “Your company… that is what I want.”

Brigitte laughed. “You men, having to control us women with your money…”

Bobby was a little taken aback, not knowing if she was serious. “I--” he started to defend himself but she raised her hand, stopping him.

“It’s fine. I won’t offer to pay anymore. I don’t want to hurt your manly pride any further.”

For a moment Bobby was silent as they continued to head to the café. Was she mad? It wasn’t entirely clear to him what was going through her head. He looked over at her and she didn’t look mad… so he ventured, “What are you doing this weekend?”

“No firm plans yet,” she replied.

“I have an idea, to help you study.” This got her attention, and she turned to face him. “Saturday is the fourth of July.”

Brigitte’s eyebrows furrowed, obviously confused. “Um, yes, I think it is.”

Bobby was also confused for a moment until he realized that that meant nothing to Brigitte. “Oh, sorry. The fourth of July is the American Independence Day.”

“Okay. I still don’t understand why that’s important here in France,” Brigitte responded. “Or how it helps me study.”

“Well, I thought we could speak English that day. We could cook outside. And I could teach you about America.”

Brigitte slowly nodded, seeming to take it all in. “Bobby, I don’t know…”

“Please?” he implored. “I really like helping you with history. I want to help with English too. And I want to teach you about my home. You have taught me a lot about yours.”

Brigitte was silent again, and Bobby didn’t understand her hesitation. It would be fun!

“You like helping me with history?” Brigitte’s voice cut through his thoughts of grilling, catching him off guard.

Bobby smiled. “I do. Besides, you said you wanted to practice your English skills…” Brigitte still looked a little skeptical, so he continued. “Why do you doubt me? I like helping you… I want to see you succeed. To be ‘Engineer Bernard’. After all, one of us should be happy with our work.”

Brigitte suddenly stopped. “Are you really that unhappy with what you do with your father?” Brigitte asked.

Bobby took a deep breath. _Yes,_ he thought, but replied, “Only sometimes. But it’s okay. Now, about the fourth of July?” Bobby hoped the quick change of subject would distract her.

“Okay, fine we can celebrate and speak in English on Saturday.”

Bobby gave her a kiss on the cheek and they resumed their walk to the café.

* * *

 “Happy fourth of July!” Bobby exclaimed in English as she approached the car. Giving her a quick kiss, he handed her a stick attached to a piece of rectangular paper. Studying the object, Brigitte noted the white paper has been colored red and blue and vaguely resembled an American flag.

“Did you make it?” Brigitte asked, also in English.

“Yes! I didn’t think I could find the ol’ Stars and Stripes in France, so I made my own. See,” he said, pointing to the flag, “thirteen stripes for the original colonies and forty eight stars, one for each state… although the stars are supposed to be white on a blue field, but blue on white was easier. However, I did get all forty eight on there.”

“Ah,” Brigitte nodded, trying, and failing, to keep up with Bobby’s quick English. They were only five minutes into ‘English Day,’ as Bobby had coined it, and her head already hurt. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt, as it became all too real for her how Bobby must have felt over the last month, as she would get excited in French or make a joke he didn’t understand. Although she had been reluctant when the idea was first mentioned last weekend, she was now glad that they were spending this Saturday speaking only Bobby’s native tongue. Although she still found it a bit odd that Bobby wanted to show her how to celebrate the American Independence Day… while they were in France.

“It is… nice,” Brigitte said, still looking at the flag.

“You’re supposed to wave it around like this,” he said, grasping her hand and shaking it back and forth.

She shot him a look. “Bobby… we have flags in France.”

He momentarily looked abashed. “I, uh, suppose you do. Well, anyway, ready to go?”

“Yes,” she replied, stepping into the car after Bobby opened the door for her.

On the drive into the countryside, Bobby talked nonstop. Brigitte had always thought he was chatty, but it seemed like today he was trying to get in as many English words as possible before he had to go back to French. He gave her a brief overview of the Revolutionary War, followed by a description of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. He was reciting the preamble to the latter document when she started tuning him out, the English having completely overwhelmed her.

They quickly reached their destination, a grassy hillside, and Bobby began hauling items out of the trunk, all while still talking. Brigitte sat quietly on a blanket as Bobby went about preparing a small grill.

As he lit the charcoal, Bobby was about to launch into a rendition of the _Star Spangled Banner_ when he realized that Brigitte wasn’t listening anymore. “Brigitte? Are you okay?” he asked, trying to catch her attention again.

“Yes,” came her short reply.

“Then why aren’t you saying anything?” he asked as he sat next to her, his preparation momentarily forgotten.

“Because…” he heard Brigitte take a deep breath. “I cannot understand. You talk too fast.”

“Oh,” Bobby said, slightly chagrined. “You can tell me to slow down.”

“I know. You are excited. I did not want to... um…” Suddenly, Brigitte burst out in French, “ _This was a dumb idea. I don’t speak English well enough to do this. You speak French much better. Let’s just speak in French._ ”

Bobby took a breath. “Brigitte… please? Just for today. I want…” he trailed off before taking her hand in his. “I want you to hear my thoughts as I think them, not as I have to change them to fit my vocabulary. I know that you have a harder time with English than I do with French but… just for one day. Please.”

Brigitte still looked skeptical.

“It is practice for your exam, remember?”

Brigitte huffed, unable to argue with his logic. She spoke again in English. “Do you promise to speak slow and use simple words?”

“I promise.”

“And can I say a word in French if I do not know it in English?”

“Speak all the Frenglish you want.”

Brigitte closed her eyes and looked like she was about to smack him. “The what?”

“Frenglish… French and English. Put the words together and you get Frenglish.”

“That is dumb,” Brigitte replied.

“Well, I didn’t make it up,” he said, rising and returning to the grill.

Brigitte harrumphed before asking, “What do we eat?”

A huge grin broke out over Bobby’s face. “I have potato salad, macaroni salad, and hamburgers… although I couldn’t find proper buns so I have baguette. And s’mores for dessert.”

Brigitte’s face scrunched up. “Some more baguette for dessert?”

Bobby returned her confused expression before he suddenly burst out laughing. “I… I can’t believe… we are like a bad comedy duo.”

“I do not understand,” Brigitte said, wondering if Bobby was actually _laughing_ at her English skills.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as he recovered. “S’mores,” he said, this time enunciating, before spelling out the word, “are the name of the dessert. It is a contraction of some more--”

“Like Frenglish?” Brigitte cut in.

“Kind of. Anyway, they are marshmallow and chocolate between two plain cookies.”

“Marshmallow?” Brigitte said, not recognizing the word.

“Um, they are sweet… puffy and white?”

“ _Meringue_?” Brigitte asked.

“No… hold on.” Bobby dug through his bag of food and quickly revealed the food item in question. “This.”

“Ah! I know it,” Brigitte said before providing the French word.

Putting the marshmallow back, Bobby continued, “So anyway, you roast the marshmallow over a fire and put it with the chocolate and the cookie and eat it like a sandwich.”

“Um, interesting,” Brigitte said, leaning back on her elbows as Bobby returned to the grill.

The sun had begun to set, the sky awash with deep reds and purples as it slowly sank in the distance. Soon the burgers were grilled and the salads doled out. After dinner was consumed, Bobby pulled out some rods and instructed Brigitte on proper marshmallow roasting techniques. As he spoke, Brigitte considered Bobby’s outline, as he appeared to be nothing more than a dark shadow set against the colorful sky. However, too soon the sun sank away, leaving them in darkness as dusk settled across the landscape, only the coals of the grill left as light.

Nibbling on a cookie, having decided that the s’more was too sweet for her tastes, Brigitte shivered slightly. Bobby must have taken note, as moments later she felt his jacket fall across her shoulders.

“Will you get cold?” she asked, even while wrapping herself in the coat.

“If I do, I’ll just join you under there.”

Smiling, Brigitte laid down. “Come here,” she motioned. He lay down next to her and she threw the coat over them both. Snuggling against him, she whispered, “There, now we both are warm.”

“You are oh so smart,” Bobby responded softly, lightly kissing down her neck as she stared up at the night sky.

“Bobby, do you like the stars?”

Bobby stopped his kissing, turning his attention skyward as well. “I suppose. What do you mean?”

“When I was a little girl, my papa showed me the stars.” She pointed to the sky. “He showed me the… _constellations._ ” She provided the final word in French, hoping Bobby would know it.

“Cognate,” Bobby simply said.

“Ah. There,” she said, pointing to the northwest, “is the big… _casserole_? It is part of the big bear.”

“Ah…” Bobby said, finally understanding. “The big dipper and Ursa Major.”

“That is Latin. You call it by the Latin name?” Brigitte said, the surprise evident in her voice.

Bobby let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose. We say all the zodiac ones in Latin, like Capricorn, Virgo, Leo… Hey, what’s your sign?”

“My ‘sign’?” Brigitte asked and, despite the blackness, Bobby knew that her eyebrows were currently drawn together, in the way they always were when he confused her.

“Yeah, like, I’m a Pisces… I was born March eighteenth. What are you?”

“Oh. Um, May fifteen. The Latin is Taurus.”

Bobby ran his hand along her stomach, stopping just short of her breast, while dropping light kisses on her neck. “I guess we will have to look up our horoscope to see if we are good together.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

Bobby paused his ministrations and thought about how to describe the word, not knowing it in French. “Well, it’s in the newspaper… it tells you based on your sign how things will be for you. Like a fortune.”

“Oh! Yes, I know it.” Brigitte rolled slightly to give Bobby a kiss before continuing, “I do not need it to know we are compatible.”

“That’s a fancy word there.”

“Cognate,” she said simply, her hand tracing a similar path on his body as Bobby’s were on her.

“Ah yes, I love all the cognates.”

“Me too.”

They drunk in the calm of the night sky and the warmth of each other. Their small kisses soon settled into a calm stillness, as they huddled together, eyes on the night sky. Brigitte broke the silence. “When we were little, Simone and I… played… like we went to the moon.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. We ran and jumped in the air… like we could jump high enough. And when we got there, we met the moon people.”

“Were the moon people nice?” Bobby asked.

“Of course. Why pretend mean people?” Brigitte responded, turning slightly towards him.

“I don’t know. Maybe to have a space battle?” Bobby suggested, imagining a small ship zipping around space, shooting between larger vessels, evading their weapons fire.

“No, the moon people are nice. But we need air on the moon, so I thought a… tube… with a pump. So my papa gave us an old one to play with.”

“Sounds like fun.” Bobby smiled, imagining a tiny dark haired Brigitte running around with her equally blonde cousin, launching themselves off any and everything available in their small garden, breathing through an old hose and talking to imaginary moon men.

His thoughts were interrupted when Brigitte’s wistful words met his ear. “When you are young, everything is fun.”

“You don’t have fun anymore?” Bobby questioned.

“I do. Different fun. I do not pretend to go to the moon anymore,” Brigitte said with a chuckle.

“Maybe one day you can go for real.”

“I hope one day. If I go, would you miss me?” Brigitte asked playfully.

“I would come with you if you were going to be there for very long,” Bobby returned.

Suddenly Bobby felt Brigitte stiffen and the mood of the moment become solemn. “I will miss you when you go home.”

“I don’t like to think about that. Let’s just live in the moment and worry about that later.”

Bobby felt her nuzzle him again and he wrapped his arms tight, holding her as close as possible for as long as possible.

Above them, only the stars and a sliver of the moon bore witness. 

* * *

 Robert Davis looked up from his ledger when he heard the front door quietly close. A moment later, the grandfather clock in the foyer struck ten. He sighed and shook his head. As usual, his boy was doing just enough to keep from getting in trouble, rather than actually listening to his father’s words.

Ever since the night that Bobby had come home so late, Robert had started watching him. He showed up at work on time and left when he was supposed to, but mentally, his son was always somewhere else. And he always seemed to be with that girl… Bridget or something.

The daughter of a fucking mechanic.

Robert heard his son cross the foyer and head to the stairs. He wondered where he had gone wrong with the boy. When Bobby was a child they used to get on so well. They would play catch in the yard or wrestle. But the last few years it was like he had lost his son. Bobby was moody and irresponsible. Robert kept hoping that in the end, he would get the boy he remembered back. And not this man he currently saw before him.

And this girl was just the latest in a string of poor choices.

Why couldn’t Bobby see this girl was only after his money? Even if that wasn’t the case… she had nothing to offer him. No family connections. No money. All she could do was give him bastard children, because he was sure it would be over his wife’s dead body that Bobby married some common French girl.

He needed to set Bobby straight… but he was unsure how to do it. Anytime Robert tried to talk to him, one of them ended up yelling. He loved his son immensely... he just didn’t want to see him get into a situation.

Resolved, Robert stood. As he approached the dimly lit foyer, he could see that Bobby had already made it up the stairs and was stepping into his room. “Bobby!” he called out, stopping his son short.

He watched as Bobby slowly turned to face him. “I made it home by ten.”

“I know… come back down. Let’s get something to eat in the kitchen.”

Although the light was dim, he could see the confusion on his son’s face. “Um, okay.”

As Bobby began down the stairs, Robert said, “I wanted to talk to you… About Bridget.”

“Brigitte,” Bobby corrected.

Robert waved his hand. It didn’t really matter. He continued as they walked to the kitchen. “I just… I want to make sure you understand your options. Your mother has plenty of young women at home for you to meet--”

Much to Robert's surprise, Bobby cut him off. “Dad, I’ve been on dates with the women that Mom sets me up with. I’m not interested. They’re… vapid.”

“And your mechanic’s daughter isn’t?”

“No! She’s… amazing and brilliant.” Robert watched as his son actually became what he could only describe as ‘dreamy eyed’. _Oh Lord…_

Pushing the door open, Robert said to his son, “Bobby, I’m sure she’s great, but that doesn’t change the facts. The women back home are more appropriate. You’ll have a fiancée of good standing in no time if you just put your mind to it.

“Alice, _Bread and cheese… and a coffee_ ,” Robert said to the kitchen maid in French, wanting to make sure he actually got what he wanted. The maid headed to the larder while Robert watched Bobby pour himself a glass of sparkling water. _He’s really gone native_ , he thought as the carbonated beverage sparkled and popped in Bobby’s glass.

Bobby let out a childlike sigh. “But Dad, you don’t understand. I don’t _want_ them. I _want_ Brigitte!”

Robert couldn’t take it anymore. Why wouldn’t his son see reason? “Bobby! Get your head out of your ass! You can’t marry that girl. She’s a poor mechanic’s daughter! You need to think of your standing and your family when you marry!”

“I don’t want to marry for standing!” Bobby shouted back.

“It doesn’t matter what you want!”

Robert watched his son slam down his glass before he replied, “You’ve made that quite clear.” Bobby charged out of the kitchen and Robert let him go, knowing that talking to him any more tonight would be useless. With a sigh, he decided to return to the study. There was still work to be done.

Leaving Alice to return to an empty kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

“Bobby, I’m starting to get car sick,” Brigitte complained as she sat, with her hand over her eyes, in the passenger seat of Bobby’s car. The night before, when Bobby had dropped her off at home after their Fourth of July celebration, he had kissed her softly at the door and asked to see her again the next day. She’d agreed, but only because she knew she would need to devote the next two weeks to studying for, and then taking, her exams. It would be her last chance to see him until she was finished.

“It is just a little further,” she heard Bobby reply in his accented French.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just look,” Brigitte moaned as she felt her stomach churn.

“Because if you open your eyes you will know where we are going!”

Brigitte let out a long breath and leaned back. It was a beautiful day and Bobby had put the roof to the car down, allowing Brigitte to relish in the warm rays of the sun. She could almost feel her olive skin browning. With her hand still over her eyes, she awkwardly tried to roll up her sleeves. 

Suddenly she felt the car slow and turn, bumping up and down as it started down a dirt path. She was about to start complaining again when they came to a halt. Brigitte started to remove her hand when Bobby exclaimed, “No! Not yet!”

Brigitte let out a loud sigh, to make sure Bobby heard, but continued to hold her hand over her eyes. She listened to him open and then close the trunk and walk away. “Bobby?” she called out. “I’m getting bored with this.”

“Just a few moments more,” she heard him say from a distance. She could also hear others crying out in laughter in the distance… and the splashing of water. _We’re at the lake._

Finally, she heard him approach again and open her door. Grabbing the hand that wasn’t covering her eyes, he helped her out of the car. Once she was standing, she felt his hand on the small of her back as he guided her a few steps and then said, “Okay, open your eyes!”

Doing as commanded, Brigitte looked around. As she suspected, they were indeed at the lake. However, Bobby had chosen a relatively secluded area and had laid out a blanket with a picnic lunch…

… and a box wrapped with a bow.

“Is that for me?” Brigitte asked, a smile spreading across her face as she gestured towards the box.

She felt Bobby wrap his arms around her from behind and place a kiss on the base of her neck. “No, it is for the other girl I am bringing out to the lake today.”

She turned in his arms and saw him grinning at her. Playfully batting at him, she rolled her eyes and asked, “Can I open it?”

“Yes.”

Breaking their embrace, Brigitte walked over the blanket and knelt down. “You know, you should have just told me we were going to the lake,” Brigitte started as she opened the gift. “It’s such a nice day, we could have gone swimming if I had brought my swim--” She stopped mid-sentence as she pulled a brand new cream colored swimsuit with black trim out of the box. “Bobby! This is beautiful!” she exclaimed as her fingers trailed along it. “I’ve… I’ve actually never had a new swimsuit… I’ve always had Simone’s old ones,” Brigitte said.

“I am glad you like it,” Bobby said, looking rather pleased with himself, as she stood and held the suit against her body.

“I even think it will fit. How did you know my size?”

“Oh, the woman at the shop knew who you were, and gave me this one.”

“Bobby…” Brigitte trailed off, still eyeing the new suit. “Thank you so much. But you really shouldn’t get me such frivolous things. You should save your money.”

Bobby just shook his head. “It is nothing.” When Brigitte eyed him, he exclaimed, “Really! Do not worry.”

“Are you sure you aren’t still confused by the exchange rate?” Brigitte smirked at him.

“I am sure. Anyway, if I had not gotten it for you, then I would have to swim alone. And that is no fun.”

“You’re right, that would be no fun. And it’s not like I could have worn Simone’s hand-me-down and impressed you,” Brigitte retorted with a flirty grin.

“Exactly… do you want to try it on? There is not a changing room or anything…” Bobby trailed off, blushing slightly.

“Oh, it’s fine. I can get this on without taking off my dress, anyway.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, Brigitte was lying in Bobby’s arms, running her fingers through the soft blond hair on his chest. After she had modeled her gift for him, they had headed out into the water. Their splashing and general mucking about had slowly turned into stolen kisses and caresses, which then lead to a rather more thorough exploration of each other’s bodies than they had previously engaged in.

Now she was lying sated in his arms, enjoying the warmth generated by Bobby’s body and by the sun.

“We should go to Cannes… or maybe Nice,” Bobby said suddenly, out of nowhere.

“What?” Brigitte replied, suddenly brought out of her half-asleep state.

“We should go for a week or two. It only takes a day by train,” Bobby said, a smile on his face.

Brigitte laughed. “Why do you want to go there?”

“Because it is beautiful! We could just lay on the beach, enjoy some wine… and each other,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Smacking him playfully, Brigitte got up on her elbow to look down at him and realized he sounded like he was speaking from experience. “Wait, you’ve been there?”

“Yes, we sailed into Marseilles. My dad had business there, but we were only there a few days. And we sail out of La Rochelle after a week in Paris, so I will not get a chance to see it again.” He traced a finger up her thigh. “Unless you wanted to accompany me.”

Brigitte laughed, and then her face fell a little as she realized that Bobby was waiting for her to reply. “Wait, Bobby, are you serious?”

“Yes, of course! I can arrange it, if you want to go.”

A moment of silence passed before Brigitte erupted in a torrent of French. “Bobby! I can’t afford to go there! Do you have any idea how much things cost? Not to mention the fact that I have to work! It’s going to be hard enough as it is on my parents with me leaving in the autumn without me gallivanting to the south of France for a couple weeks with you! And what would people say!? The two of us going to the coast without a chaperone!”

Bobby looked a bit hurt, and maybe slightly lost, as she had spoken rather quickly. But she was sure that her ‘no’ had come across quite clearly. She put her hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes. “I would love to go with you, but it’s not possible,” she said, slowly and clearly.

He smiled slightly at that and put his hand over hers. “Maybe next year?”

Smiling coquettishly, she replied, “You presume we will still be together next summer? I _am_ going off to university where I’m sure all the boys will want the attentions of a bookish engineer.”     

Bobby surged up to roll her onto her back. The weight of his body now on top of her, he grinned down at Brigitte. “Then I better show you I am worth the wait,” he said before kissing her, full on the lips. “And anyway, aren’t you going to a women’s university?”

“There are _plenty_ of men in Paris, Bobby…” she teased, grinning as she returned the kiss.

* * *

Hearing the front door open, Maria Bernard glanced from her chopping board to see her daughter waltz into the house. Brigitte’s dark wavy hair was in a complete state of disarray and she could see a swimsuit peeking out from underneath her dress. Assuming her daughter had been swimming at the lake, Maria called out, “Brigitte, dinner will be in about forty-five minutes, so go…” she trailed off as her eyes met a large red mark on her little girl’s neck.

“What’s wrong?” she heard Brigitte’s innocent voice waft through the air as she stared at it. Maria had been ignoring the fact that things were escalating between Brigitte and Bobby. She had hoped that he would just leave and that would be that.

But that damn red mark seemed to indicate otherwise.

“ _My God, what’s that on your neck_?” Maria demanded in Spanish and advanced towards Brigitte.

“ _My neck_?” Brigitte responded, also in Spanish, as she automatically reaching up to feel the area in question.

“ _Bobby did that to you, didn’t he_?” Maria said in a harsh whisper as she yanked Brigitte’s hand away.

Pulling back from her mother, Brigitte went to the mirror in the living room. Maria knew from the expression on her daughter’s face that she was right. As Brigitte continued to examine the mark, Maria came up behind her and took a deep breath to calm herself. She wasn’t mad at her daughter… but she was afraid for her. Trying to control her voice as much as possible, she asked, “ _What else have the two of you done_?”

A panicked look flashed across Brigitte’s face, “ _Nothing Mama, I swear_!”

Maria knew it was a lie, or at the very best a half-truth. The guilty way her hand rubbed at the bruise and her failure to meet Maria’s eyes told her as much. They had done other things.

Maria cursed herself for letting this go on so long without talking with Brigitte. When Bobby had first asked Brigitte out, Maria had been reluctant to allow her daughter to date, un-chaperoned. But then Philippe pointed out that Brigitte would be leaving for Paris in just a few months… He suggested that they should allow her some freedom, while they were still there to make sure things didn't go too far.

Maria really hoped things had not gone too far.

Grabbing Brigitte by the hand, she pulled her into the kitchen. “ _Sit down_.” Maria pointed to a chair at the kitchen table. “ _It’s past time we had a talk_.”

She watched as Brigitte flopped down. Stalling for time and trying to collect her thoughts, Maria slowly poured herself a cup of coffee before joining her daughter at the table. Her daughter who had just been alone at a lake with an American boy.

 _Might as well just get to it_ , Maria thought as she took a sip of the lukewarm coffee. Setting the cup down, she took a deep breath. “ _Has he asked to put it in you_?”

Brigitte snapped her head up. Her look of shock told Maria all she needed to know. The boy had not asked.

“ _No_ …” Brigitte replied.

Maria nodded her head, glad this conversation was not too late after all, “ _Good. You know that’s how you get pregnant, right_?”

Brigitte rolled her eyes slightly. “ _Yes Mama, I am familiar with_ …” she paused and then finished in French, “the biological process of reproduction.”

Also switching to French, Maria snapped, “Do not get smart with me, Brigitte. You…” Maria paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “You have the intelligence to do just about anything. But a baby… you would not be able to go to university if he gets you pregnant.”

“Mama, I know… but I swear, he hasn’t asked.”

“He will ask, Brigitte. He will say lots of nice things about you and he will buy you nice things and make you all the promises you want to hear just so you will let him. It is what men do.”

Brigitte shook her head. “Mama, Bobby… Bobby’s not like that--”

Maria cut her daughter off with a wave of her hand. “ _All_ men are like that. Even the good ones.”

Brigitte shook her head again slightly and looked away. Maria reached out across the table and grabbed her daughter’s hand, squeezing it to get her daughter’s attention. “Brigitte... I know you are an adult and I cannot tell you what to do or protect you from the world anymore. But you need to focus on what matters to you. If you want to go to school, you cannot get pregnant. But if you do not want that anymore… if you want to settle down with Bobby, that is okay. No one will judge you if you want that, Brigitte.”

“No! That’s not what I want, Mama. I’m keeping up with my studying! And Bobby’s been very supportive of that. And as for the other thing… we aren’t doing that.”

When Brigitte fell silent, Maria knew that the conversation, such as it was, had ended. She could only trust now that Brigitte would heed her words and not get herself into a situation she would later regret.

“Okay, go cleanup.” Maria rose to return to chopping vegetables but then said, in a tone that indicated the matter was not up for discussion, “I think it is time Papa and I got to know Bobby better. Invite him for dinner, the Sunday after your exams. Until then, you should not see him. There is only a week left and if university is what you want, you need to spend this time studying. Not with Bobby.”

* * *

“Okay, if I let ‘u’ equal ‘5 plus x-squared’, then ‘du’ is ‘2x dx’ and that gets rid of that ‘x’… which means I can integrate this mess,” Brigitte mumbled to herself, hunched over her notebook. She had moved her studying to the park, desperate to get some fresh air after hours of being stuck inside the library studying history.

Tomorrow, Monday morning, the grueling week of exams would commence. Up first was history, but the lives of kings and queens and a lot of people named Henry were far from Brigitte’s mind as she manipulated equations in her mind. She found it almost soothing and rhythmic, a pleasant counterpoint to the light breeze and chirping of birds.

“You did not tell me there was a castle.”

Brigitte jumped, startled at the voice that had come from directly behind her shoulder. Turning, she saw Bobby standing there, his arms crossed, blond hair stirring in the wind.

Several questions flooded Brigitte’s mind, among them what was he doing here, but the one that crossed her lips was a simple, “What?”

“There is a castle on the hill outside of town. Why did you not tell me?”

Brigitte was truly confused. “Why would I?”

“So we can go see it!” Bobby said, sitting.

Putting her pencil down, Brigitte replied, “Why would you want to see it? It’s just some old stones.”

“Because it is a castle!”

Feeling like they were going in a circle, Brigitte sighed. “We can go after the exams.” Bobby looked delighted and sat next to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek before she continued, “But I really need to study now.”

“I know. I was walking along the river and then I saw you. I had to say hello. And I saw the castle yesterday when I was driving around.”

Brigitte smiled. “You seem to be getting out a lot without me.”

“I have to…” he paused and searched for the word, “entertain myself. But I am much happier when we are together.”

“Bobby, you know I have to study…”

“I know,” he said, obviously trying to hide the sadness in his voice. He moved towards her and she was sure he was going to kiss her, but then he caught a look at her math papers. “Wow, that is Greek to me.”

Brigitte pointed to the π written on her page. “This _is_ Greek.”

He laughed. “Is that not a saying in French?”

“No…”

“It means, ‘I don’t understand this.’ _It’s Greek to me_ ,” he repeated the last part in English.

“Ah! We say ‘it’s Chinese,’” Brigitte said, having made the connection.

“Well, Chinese or Greek or math. I do not understand any of them.”

Brigitte chuckled. “The test will be Chinese if I don’t get back to studying.”

Bobby reluctantly nodded and leaned towards her, his lips softly meeting hers for a moment. Remaining just inches from her he whispered, “I will go, so your exams will be in French. But when you are finished, let me take you out. Somewhere nice. We should celebrate your accomplishments. Saturday?”

Brigitte smiled. “That sounds really nice.”

“Then it is a date. Wear your nicest dress. I will wear…” Bobby paused. “I do not know how it is called. With the pants and a jacket?”

“A suit?” Brigitte offered.

Bobby giggled, as the word sounded like ‘costume’ in English. “Maybe. They are my best clothes.”

Brigitte spoke, her face still mere inches from his. “I’ll figure something out.” She then pressed her lips against his. It was long and sweet and she didn’t want it to end. Finally, when she did pull back, Bobby reluctantly stood.

“ _Break a leg next week_ ,” Bobby said in English.

“ _Say again?”_ she replied, thinking she had misunderstood.

" _It just means ‘good luck.’_ ”

Brigitte shook her head at another one of Bobby’s bizarre, American idioms and chuckled as he left.

* * *

It had been no accident that Bobby ran into Brigitte in the park. He had been a bit lost without her the last week or so. Bobby was a naturally outgoing person, so making friends had never been an issue for him, but he had been so wrapped up with Brigitte from almost his first day in France that he just hadn’t had the time to make other friends. He didn’t really interact with anyone his age at work, not to mention that he was ‘the boss’s son.’ Brigitte had introduced him to some of her friends, but he had not gotten to know them very well. Not to mention the fact that they were all busy studying too. So Bobby had taken to a combination of long walks and even longer drives, anything to get out of the house.

While he did enjoy the exhilaration of taking curves just a little too fast, he disliked having no one around to share it with. It turned out that a drawback to being a naturally outgoing person was that these times alone were, well, lonely. Left alone with his thoughts, he just got caught in a circle of getting upset over memories of things his father said and missing Brigitte.

So that Sunday he had gone to the park, specifically to the place he knew Brigitte liked to study. They had been there together several times in the last month and a half, as he helped her prepare for her exams. He had gone with the slim hope that she would be there and he could say hello and wish her luck… but if she wasn’t, it was a pleasant place to sit and read.

Feeling cheerful after having actually seen Brigitte, Bobby returned home. It was nearly dinnertime and Bobby was sure that he could spend the time until then reading in the garden.

His steps felt light as he crossed the foyer, headed for the stairs. He barely noticed his father standing there until his voice rang out. “You seem to be in a good mood. Did you finally get over that girl?”

Bobby halted at the sound of the voice. “Get over her?” he questioned. What in the world was his father talking about?

“Yes. I’m glad to see you’ve moved on. Now you can focus on your work and we can find you a more proper woman back home.”

Bobby stood there, dumbfounded. It took a moment for him to process what his father was saying and formulate a response. “Brigitte and I didn’t break up.”

“They why in the hell have you been out of sorts and moping around the house?” Robert asked, his voice harsh.

“I haven’t been ‘moping’,” Bobby countered.

Robert waved his hand dismissively. “You most certainly have been. Something’s been bothering you. Did you have an argument?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, everything is fine. Brigitte has been busy studying for her end of school exams. So I haven’t been able to see her as much.”

There was a moment of silence. “So you’ve been moping and being unproductive at work because she’s busy studying?” Robert asked, the disbelief evident in his voice. “God, Bobby. Sometimes I wonder if I have three daughters.”

Bobby bristled, and struggled not to take the bait. He knew it wasn't worth arguing against his father's cheap shots. But he had to say _something._ “I haven’t— I just…”

Robert continued, seeming to ignore that Bobby had even spoke. “You know what the funny part is? She’s the one with a work ethic! If you could focus like that, you could be so successful, Bobby! But unlike her, your work this summer really matters.”

Bobby was aghast. “What do you mean her work doesn't ‘matter’? Of course her work matters! She's studied really hard to go to university! She’s going to be a engineer!”

It was silent for a moment. Then Robert started laughing. It started off as a soft chuckle, but soon transformed into a roar. Bobby stood there, unsure of how anything he just said was in the least bit humorous. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Robert looked back at Bobby, catching the expression on his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! She’s brilliant!” Bobby had always known his father was pigheaded, but he couldn’t believe what was happening. Both his sisters had attended university. Why should it be so funny that Brigitte was too?

Bobby was trying to think of additional ways to explain why school was important to Brigitte when his father interrupted his thoughts. “Bobby, what I don't understand is why you persist in dating this unsuitable woman. If you say she’s smart, fine, she’s smart. But what _you_ need to do is find a woman who will take care of your home and your children, so that you can be free to focus on work. This… _mechanic_ is not that person.”

Bobby chewed on his father’s words for a moment. “I'll have staff to take care of the house and kids. My wife can do whatever she wants. And if she loves engineering, that's what she should do.”

“You won’t have the money for a staff if you continue not to take your work seriously!”

“I have been taking it seriously!” Bobby protested.

“No, you’ve been wasting your time with this silly romance! If you are going to carry on with her, it better not affect your work any longer. You need to focus.” The last words almost felt like pleading to Bobby’s ears.

“I am… I will. But please, try to understand, Brigitte is special.”

His father shook his head. “When you’re eighteen, they’re all special.”

* * *

Brigitte walked out of the English exam feeling like she had just been kicked by an angry donkey. Here she was, dating a native English speaker, and she _still_ could not make heads or tails of it most of the time. It seemed like every rule had five exceptions… and what exactly was the difference between ran and run? Was it ‘I have run’ or ‘I have ran’?

Her school bag slung over her shoulder, she walked down the street to Simone’s apartment. Tomorrow was the last day of exams, with only physics and Latin left to go. Climbing the stairs to the second floor walkup, Brigitte mused that at least she thought most of her other subjects had gone well, particularly math and chemistry.

When Brigitte opened the door she heard Simone call out, “ _Salve. Quo modo in exem hodie_?”

“Oh please, can we not speak in a foreign language right now?”

“ _Latina hic es_?”

“Yes, I’m here to practice Latin, but can we have lunch in French? I need to wipe all this stupid English from my mind.”

“Alright,” Simone said, rising from the couch to head into the kitchen. “I didn’t make anything today, I wasn’t feeling that well this morning. So we will just have some cold meats, bread, and salad.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m not too hungry after that terrible exam.” Then Brigitte remembered what her cousin had said. “Are you feeling better now?” she inquired.

“I am. It passed, and then I was just lazy. There really is nothing in the house to make; I still need to go to the market. So, we are just having a cold lunch.” Simone spoke as she put the meats on to a plate. “I didn’t even make it to the bakery, so sorry, the bread is a day old.”

Brigitte scrunched her nose slightly at that. “Maybe we can just run down and get a fresh loaf?”

Simone paused putting the salad into a bowl. “What, my day-old bread isn’t good enough for you?” she joked.

Brigitte smirked in return. “I take my bread _very_ seriously.”

Simone laughed. “When you have to run your own house, day-old bread will be plenty good.”

“Well, I’m not there yet, so let’s go buy a baguette.”

Simone quickly put the plates of food back into the icebox before following Brigitte out the door. “Okay, but you are treating me. And I personally think this is a stalling tactic. You just don’t want to practice Latin.”

Brigitte chuckled. “Added benefit.” There was a pause as the two hurried down the stairs and out to the street. “I can’t wait for the end of tomorrow! Look at how beautiful the weather is!” Brigitte exclaimed.

“I know, it’s criminal that you’re trapped inside taking those exams.”

“Not to mention that I haven’t been able to see Bobby. But at least he is taking me out on Saturday. Speaking of which, I need a dress.”

“Oh?” Simone asked as they entered the bakery.

“Yes, he said he’s wearing a suit and is going to take me somewhere nice.” Turning to the woman behind the counter, Brigitte said, “Good afternoon, Madame Fournier. How are things?”

“Good, good, thank you. And how are you girls today? Is the bac over, Brigitte?”

“Tomorrow is the last day. I’m just taking a break for lunch.”

“Ah,” the baker replied. “Well, what can I get you two?”

“A baguette… Simone, do you need a second for dinner?”

Simone laughed. “How much bread are you going to eat?”

“I don’t know… okay, just one.” Brigitte fished around in her purse for the money.

“Anything else?” Madame Fournier asked as she handed the bread to Simone.

“No, that’s it, thank you.” Brigitte said, handing over the required amount of money.

The older woman took the coins and then placed two cookies in a small paper bag. “Well, have a madeleine, my treat, to wish you luck.” She handed the small sack to Brigitte, who smiled in return.

“Oh, thank you very much. That’s very kind of you.”

“Well, good luck and let me know how it goes.”

As they walked out the door Brigitte called back, “Thank you. I will.”

Making their way back to the apartment, Simone prompted, “So, you need a dress?”

“Yes, I don’t really have anything. Just church stuff. Do you have anything more…” Brigitte trailed off.

“Sexy?”

Brigitte smiled. “Yes. Something sexy.”

“I just might. We can go through my stuff Saturday morning. But for now lunch and Latin.”

With that pronouncement, Brigitte let out a groan. “I can’t wait for tomorrow to be over.”

* * *

Brigitte put her hands on her hips, turning this way, then that, as she evaluated her appearance in the mirror.

“I don’t know.” She turned around and looked at her reflection over her shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a little… revealing?” The dress plunged dramatically in the back, leaving her completely bare almost all the way down to the small of her back. “And what kind of bra am I supposed to wear with this?”

“Didn’t you want something sexy?” Simone grinned at her cousin. Brigitte glared in return. “And with your boobs, you don’t need a bra yet. You look fabulous, Brigitte.” Simone assured her. “Bobby will love it.”

Brigitte sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel a little… naked. Besides, I don’t think it’s a good color for me.”

Now it was Simone’s turn to sigh resignedly. “Fine. I’ll see what else I have.” Simone disappeared into her closet. Brigitte was trying to unzip Simone’s dress when her cousin’s voice wafted from the closet. “So… I heard Mama and Auntie talking about you and Bobby.” Her voice had an amused tone that Brigitte didn’t like at all. Simone then popped out of the closet, clutching an emerald dress.

“I’m sure I have no idea what they were talking about.”

Simone looked at her skeptically, and handed her the dress. “Here, try this one. It’s a little small on me, so it might be perfect for you.” As Brigitte pulled off the first dress and began putting on the new one, Simone continued. “So you don’t remember coming home from the lake? With a hickey on your neck?”

Brigitte flushed, the events at the lake replaying in her mind. How she’d put her hand down Bobby’s swimsuit, and how hard he’d felt when she’d touched him. How he’d clutched her, bucking his hips against her as she grasped him, groaning her name and mumbling in English. And how warm she’d felt as he kissed her neck and explored her body with his fingers under the water. How she’d finally curled around him, her cries of pleasure muffled against his neck.

"It wasn’t a big deal, Simone. I came home, Mama saw the bruise. She overreacted a little. It happens.” As she spoke, she avoided Simone’s eyes, hoping that Simone would just drop the subject.

“It’s okay, Brigitte! Mama caught Jean and me once before we were married. I thought I would die, right then and there! And if I didn’t die of embarrassment, I was sure Mama would kill me!”

Brigitte finally looked up at her cousin, dress half on, curious despite herself. “What were you _doing_?”

“Well Mama and Papa were supposed to be gone all evening. But they came back early and Jean and I were kissing on the couch. He had his hand up my shirt. And my hand down his pants. Mama didn’t stop shouting for so long, I thought she was going to have a heart attack!” Simone suddenly looked a little unsure. “That’s when she first started pushing us to get engaged. I guess she thought if it was going to happen, she wanted to get us married as soon as possible.”

“Can you zip me up?” Simone walked over to Brigitte and helped her the rest of the way into the dress. “Wait, so your mama pushed you into marrying Jean? That’s not how I remember it.”

Simone sat down on the edge of her bed. “No, of course I wanted to. Mama just may have… sped things along a bit.” She smiled, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I mean, sometimes I wonder about other paths I could have chosen, like university. But in the end, I’m happy where I am.” Simone looked back up at Brigitte. “But, enough about that. We are here to get you ready for your big date! And Brigitte, you look _amazing_.”

Finally looking at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but agree. The emerald color looked great against her olive skin and the dress did fit her perfectly. “It is nice.”

“Well, _I_ think we found a winner. Now come sit down with me. Tell me about this adventure at the lake.”

“Okay, fine,” Brigitte sighed. “But help me out of this dress first.” Once Simone had her out of the dress, Brigitte pulled her clothes back on and sat down on the bed next to Simone, who was watching her expectantly. “I guess it was over two weeks ago now. Bobby took me out to the lake.” Brigitte shook her head with a bit of a laugh. “But of course, he made a big fuss about it. He wanted it to be a secret, so I covered my eyes the whole way there. By the time we got there, I’d figured out where we were, of course. But… it was sweet. He had everything all planned out. He’d even bought me a new swimsuit.”

“It sounds romantic!”

“I guess so.” Brigitte bit down on her lip thinking about it. “Anyway, once we got out into the lake, we… went further. Than we had before.”

Simone’s eyes grew wide. “Oh Brigitte, tell me you didn’t.”

“No! We didn’t do _that_. I’m not dumb enough to risk getting pregnant.”

A moment of silence passed between the two women before Simone asked conspiratorially, “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?” Brigitte asked, not quite sure what Simone was referring to.

“Have sex with Bobby!”

Brigitte felt herself flushing again. She nearly voiced the automatic denial that she would have given her mother, but found herself pausing, actually considering Simone’s question. “I… don’t know. Maybe, at some point. But, not just yet.”

Simone smiled. “Okay. Fair enough. So what _did_ you do?”

“Well, we were… touching each other.”

“Did he…?”

“Orgasm?” Brigitte took pleasure in making Simone blush for once. After a pause, though, she did answer her question. “He did. And…” Brigitte paused again, remembering directing Bobby’s fingers between her legs. “So did I. You know… after I showed him what to do a little.”

Simone laughed. “Well, at least he takes direction well. I’d keep him around, if I were you.”

Brigitte flushed a little. “He’s pretty nice, I guess.”

Simone paused, then continued. “Brigitte… if things do get more serious with Bobby, and you want to go further, there are other things you can do. Things that won’t get you pregnant.”

“I… what you do mean?” Brigitte was intrigued, but hesitant to admit it.

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Well, there are other ways to have sex.” Simone continued and Brigitte’s blush increased as her cousin described her other options.

When Simone was finished, Brigitte just stared at her, slack-jawed. “I’m supposed to put my mouth where?!”

* * *

“Brigitte, Bobby’s here.”

Brigitte looked up from applying her lipstick to see her mother standing in her doorway.

“Aye, Brigitte, that color does not go with the dress. Let me see what I have.” Brigitte tried to protest that it was fine but her mother was already gone. Shrugging, she headed to the living room, where Bobby was waiting, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket. He looked up, having heard her approach, and smiled. “You look beautiful,” he told her. “And congratulations. I…” he paused, and then said in English. “ _I’ve had my fingers crossed for days for you. For luck._ ”

Brigitte smiled. “I’ll need all the luck I can get. Especially with that English exam.”

“I am sure you did great.”

She smiled and leaned up to give him a peck on the lips. Running her hands along his lapels, and recalling their conversation in the park, she said, “This _is_ a ‘suit’, by the way.”

Bobby chuckled. “Another word to remember. I feel like this is smaller than the last time I wore it.” He tugged at the sleeves yet again.

“Maybe you grew?”

“Maybe--”

Bobby’s words were cut off by a blast of Spanish. “ _Brigitte! I told you to wait for me! I have a better lipstick!_ ”

Sighing, Brigitte squeezed Bobby’s hand. “My lipstick consultation has arrived, I’ll be out in just one minute.”

She turned and started down the hall when Bobby called after her in English. “ _Brigitte, does you mom speak English_?”

“ _No. Why?_ ”

A devilish grin passed over Bobby’s face. “ _Because I wanted to tell you that your ass is fantastic in that dress._ ”

Brigitte let out a laugh. “ _Later I should drop something and make you pick it up. Then I can look at_ your _ass._ ”

“ _I look forward to it_.”

Still laughing, Brigitte walked back into her room, where her mother was waiting. She immediately grabbed Brigitte by the jaw, tissue in hand. Brigitte automatically struggled. “Mama, I can put it on--”

“Do not argue. Relax.”

Not wishing to get into it with her mother right now, Brigitte did as she was told and allowed her mother to apply the makeup. “ _So pretty_ ,” her mother mumbled in Spanish when she was done.

Turning to examine herself, Brigitte smiled. “You’re right, this shade is better.”

“Of course I am right.”

Rather than taking offense, as she normally would, Brigitte just chuckled. “Of course.”

“Come, let’s go. Although you have already ruined the surprise.” Maria headed back out into the living room, Brigitte on her heels.

“Are you ready?” Brigitte asked Bobby as she reentered the living room.

“I am,” he said before turning to Maria. “Madame Bernard, it is nice to see you. I hope you have a nice evening.”

“Thank you, Bobby. And you are coming to dinner tomorrow, no?”

Brigitte stomach dropped at Bobby’s startled expression. She had completely forgotten to extend her mother’s invitation to dinner. “Mama, I completely forgot with the exams and everything.” Turning back to Bobby she continued, “Mama wanted me to invite you to Sunday dinner after my exams were done. Which would have been this Sunday if you are still available. It’s okay if you’re not since I forgot to ask…” Brigitte trailed off when she realized she was rambling.

She watched as Bobby decoded what she had just said in his head, the look of comprehension finally arriving. “Dinner tomorrow? Here?” he asked.

“Yes, we would like for you to come to Sunday dinner. Around eight,” Maria confirmed.

“But if you’re not--” Brigitte began again, but Bobby cut in.

“No, I am free. Madame Bernard, I am happy to…” Bobby paused. “To accept the invitation.”

“Good.” Maria said with finality. “Have fun. Don’t be out too late.” Kissing first Bobby, then Brigitte, goodbye on the cheek, Maria paused momentarily to whisper in Brigitte’s ear in Spanish, “ _Don’t get yourself in trouble._ ” When she pulled back, she gave Brigitte a look that left no doubt in her mind what ‘trouble’ she spoke of.

“ _I won’t_ ,” she whispered back in Spanish before turning to Bobby. “Okay, ready?”

Bobby smiled and offered his arm. “Yes. Let’s go.”

* * *

Brigitte opened the box yet again and stared inside. She had done so at least five times since she got home.

Bobby had taken her to Le Coeur de Lion and had treated her to what she considered a decadent dinner. Five courses, wine, coffee… everything. Brigitte had never had such a meal at a restaurant. But Bobby… other than not knowing all the French words, he had seemed perfectly at home. The owner, Katrine, had come to their table to greet them, and asked what they were celebrating… perhaps an engagement? Bobby had flushed and stammered, so Brigitte cut in and said they were celebrating the end of the bac. Katrine had then asked Brigitte what she was doing next, and the older woman seemed rather interested in Brigitte’s career goals. Shortly after Katrine had left their table, two glasses of champagne had arrived, with her compliments, so they could properly toast Brigitte.

While extravagant, Brigitte had tried to take the evening in stride. She knew Bobby had more money than her, right? How else would he have that car, or even _dream_ of going to Cannes? So, in her mind, the dinner was a bit much, but he seemed so enthusiastic about treating her.

But then he gave her the box.

It was a little velvet box, the kind that rings came in. He had tied a little bow around it. At first her stomach flipped. Was he proposing? After knowing each other for only two months? She started to plan how she was going to say no, or at least that she wasn’t ready, as she opened the box.

A wave of relief crashed over her as she saw the contents. They were just earrings. _Thank God!_ she had thought. They looked to be gold and diamonds, but of course they were just costume jewelry, like most of the things she had.

She had smiled and thanked him and said they were lovely. She had half pulled them out of the box when she noticed something. A tag.

The tag had carat information for the gold and the diamonds.

They were real.

He had bought her real earrings.

It was near the end of the evening when he gave her the gift and from that point on she had felt unsure of what to do. At first she tried to give them back, but he would not let her. So she sat there, slightly uncomfortable, trying to guess how much these things cost.

She knew the answer was a lot.

Now lying on her bed, she was staring at them again. How much money did Bobby have? Was he rich? Back home he had a cook… and evidently he bought new girlfriends terribly expensive gifts…

If he was that rich, what in the world was he doing with her?

Closing the box again, she sighed and tried to think of something else. Dwelling on unknowns wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

* * *

Bobby placed his suit on the chair near the door so one of the maids could clean it in the morning.

Tonight had been a complete success. Brigitte had looked so happy to have a night of fun, and Bobby was thrilled to be able to provide it. There was dinner, drinks, and even some dancing. He thought back to his hands running up and down the curve of her back, the fabric of the dress smooth under his fingers. Her head had rested lightly on his chest as they swayed, and he could smell the scent that was uniquely Brigitte.

As always, it nearly drove him mad.

But really, the best moment had been the earrings. Brigitte had been totally surprised by them, shocked that they were real gold and diamonds. He had asked her to put them on and she looked just as wonderful as he had imagined.

As he changed into his nightclothes and crawled into bed, his mind drifted back to when the proprietress had come to their table. When she asked if they were celebrating an engagement, he had panicked. But not for the reason he would have expected. When the words left Katrine’s lips, his first thought had been, _that’s not a bad idea_.

That had scared the shit out of him.

Here he was, eighteen and headed to college, and his first thought was that marrying Brigitte sounded good? He had only known her for two months, hell, he hadn’t even told her he loved her.

This was love, wasn’t it?

Rolling over on to his side, Bobby considered his options. At the end of August he would be leaving Sainte Claire and Brigitte. The last two weeks without her had been hard… what would ten months without her be like? What would a lifetime without her be like?

More questions danced around in his head. Should he tell her he was in love with her? Was it too early? Was she in love with him? He tried to quiet the thoughts. Tomorrow they were going on a bike ride and then dinner with her parents. _One day at a time, don’t get ahead of yourself_ , he thought and he closed his eyes.

 _One day at a time_.


	5. Chapter 5

When the first raindrop hit Brigitte's nose on what had been a sunny Sunday afternoon, she nearly cried out. _Damn it_ , she thought, peddling a little faster and turning her head to see Bobby trailing after her on his bicycle.

"Bobby! We have to hurry if we are going to get back to town before this rain hits." There was a chill in the air, and Brigitte shivered.

Bobby just grinned. "Race you!"

Brigitte knew there was no way she could go as fast as he could, not in a skirt, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to try. They sped down the hill towards town, but had only made it about another kilometer when the rain started coming down harder. It was starting to soak through the summer dress Brigitte wore, and the light sweater she had on did nothing to protect her from the chill of the rain.

Ahead of her, she saw Bobby pull over under a tree, so she slowed to join him. Under the leaves of the tree, they were partially protected from the rain, but the wind seemed to be taking what little body heat Brigitte had left. Bobby took her hands in his, rubbing them between his to warm them.

"You are freezing," Bobby whispered, pulling her fully against him and kissing her forehead. Wrapped tight in his arms, the concerns that had kept Brigitte awake the night before seemed as distant as the moon. She had been slightly nervous when he had appeared at her door early that afternoon to go on a bike ride, but after just a few minutes with him, everything seemed so normal. So what if he had a bit more money than her? She resolved to not let it get to her any longer.

Bobby’s words broke into her thoughts. “I do not think we should try to get back to town. I live near here. We can just stay there until the rain stops. We can warm up and dry our clothes."

Brigitte pulled back a little from the warm comfort of his arms. It was perfect. She could finally see where he lived and maybe get some of her questions answered. "Yes, let’s go there."

"We just have to turn left, and then it is at the end of the road."

Brigitte nodded and got back on her bicycle.  They peddled quickly, but this time Bobby kept pace with Brigitte rather than speeding off ahead. She had kept her head down to keep her eyes out of the rain, so Brigitte was surprised when Bobby stopped and she looked up to see the Guillory Manor. Her mouth went dry. This was the largest house in their région. Everyone knew this place. _This_ was where Bobby was staying for the summer? Her thoughts were interrupted again by Bobby's voice.

"Just leave the bicycles here. I will have someone put them away." His words confused Brigitte. _Who was he referring to? Maybe he had misspoken?_ The rain was coming down harder, however, forcing Brigitte to hold her questions until they got inside.

Bobby pushed open one of the large, heavy doors and led her in. Brigitte was only just starting to absorb the interior of the house, the sheer scale of the entranceway, the fine detail put into every door, every light fixture, when she was completely distracted by a bigger surprise. The house _had a staff._ Bobby didn’t just have a cook back home in New York.

He had an entire _staff_.

Bobby was speaking to a middle-aged man who had greeted him in the doorway. They spoke in English and Brigitte was only half listening, so she didn't catch all of it, but it sounded like Bobby was making arrangements.

Brigitte was pretty sure she was staring at Bobby and his butler in wide-eyed shock, so she quickly looked away. Scanning the entranceway for something else to look at, she found little else to make her feel any more comfortable. She jumped when she felt Bobby's hand on her elbow. 

He gave her a warm smile when she turned to face him and gestured to a woman who had appeared next to him. “Margueritte will make a bath for you and dry your clothes.” _A bath?_ Not knowing what to say, Brigitte just nodded. She watched as several women scurried about the entryway and wondered just how many people worked here.

 _And all this, just for Bobby and his father?_ The older woman gestured for Brigitte to follow her up the grand stairway to the upper floor of the home, and Brigitte followed, leaving Bobby behind them. They continued down a long hallway until finally Margueritte opened a door and gestured Brigitte through it. She looked around the large bedroom, which alone was nearly half the size of her whole house. The room had a large fireplace and elegant furniture, but lacked any personal items. _This is_ just _a guest bedroom_ , she thought, slightly horrified.

She blindly followed Margueritte through the enormous room, towards a door in the back. The older woman opened the door, and Brigitte peeked inside.

It was an indoor bathroom. With a huge soaking tub and flush toilet. And it was on the _second_ floor in a _guest_ room.

Brigitte just stood there, shocked. Her mind immediately started running the numbers, trying to calculate how much it would have cost to retrofit this old mansion. Her family had only recently begun even discussing installing indoor plumbing in the garage. And even just the cost of _that_ was enormous.

“What are you waiting for?”

Brigitte jumped at the sound of Margueritte’s voice. “Excuse me?”

The older woman looked at her disapprovingly, lips pursed. “Just go put on the robe that’s laid out on the bed while I get the bath ready. Leave your clothes on the chair by the door and Louise will launder them while you are in here.” Brigitte nodded and walked back into the bedroom.

As Brigitte undressed, she tried to focus on Bobby and not on the house... or the servants. She had clearly tremendously underestimated his family’s wealth. But the car, the fact that he always paid for her… the earrings. It certainly made sense now. But something else wasn’t quite making sense. It tickled the back of her mind as she dropped her damp sweater on the chair. When she and Bobby had first met and he’d tried to find that word to describe what his father did, she had suggested ‘foreman’ or ‘manager.’ But that couldn’t be correct. Owner maybe? The owner of _many_ steel mills? Brigitte could only guess at the specifics. But clearly Bobby’s father was no mere foreman to afford luxury like this.

She sighed. Five thousand Francs was probably nothing to his family.

Dropping her dress on the chair, she tried to push it all out of her mind. She told herself that none of this, the house, the material possessions, the wealth, none of it mattered. Bobby was Bobby and he cared for her. Brigitte set the rest of her clothes on the chair as instructed, pulled on the robe, and waited. Soon, a knock sounded from the bathroom and Margueritte reappeared. “Your bath is ready,” the older woman said. Trying to hold her head high, Brigitte walked past the maid and shut the door.

She let the robe fall away and approached the tub. She sat on the edge, and then slowly slipped into the warm water. _This is certainly much easier when hot water just flows from the tap,_ she thought as she let the warmth encircle her.

But she couldn't help thinking that she’d been happier in the cold rain with Bobby’s arms around her.

* * *

 As the water started to cool, Brigitte wondered whether or not to get out of the tub. No one had returned to get her, and she was a little afraid someone would appear out of thin air to scold her for getting out at the wrong time. But Brigitte’s fingers were turning into prunes, so consequences be damned, she rose from the water. Toweling off, she put the robe back on and went looking for a brush for her hair. She sat down at an elegant vanity and started looking through the drawers. Successfully finding what she needed, she brushed her hair and was in the middle of braiding it when someone entered the bedroom.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t realize you were out of the tub! We have your clothes ready now. I’m so sorry!”

Brigitte turned around to assure her that it was no problem, but her voice stuck in her throat when she made eye contact with the maid. A young woman stood in the doorway, holding Brigitte’s clothes, neatly folded. The look of shock on her face matched Brigitte’s own.

Louise, the maid, wasn’t just Bobby’s family’s maid. She was also Louise Beaumont, who had gone to school with Brigitte until they were fifteen, who had grown up a couple of streets over. They had never been close, but they had played together as children and continued to have mutual friends. And apparently, she had found work serving Bobby’s family. Serving her.

Brigitte pulled her robe closer around her. Louise fumbled slightly as she set Brigitte’s clothes down on the chair by the door. “I… I’ll just leave these here.” And with that, she hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind her.    

Brigitte just sat for a moment in a state of shock. Never in her life had she felt so out of place. Feeling the sudden need to get out of this house as quickly as possible, she dressed and moved towards the door of the bedroom. As she approached, however, the sound of voices outside made her pause.

“—that her? Did she come to visit?”

“Who?”

“His fiancée! I heard there’s a girl waiting for him back in New York. Did she come to visit?”

“What? I hadn’t heard that.”

“Yeah, I know my English isn’t great, but I swear the other day in the kitchen I heard Monsieur Davis talk to Monsieur Bobby about his fiancée back home.”

When Brigitte heard this, she pressed against the wall, trying to catch as much as possible.

The voices continued, “Fiancée, huh? So what’s he doing with Brigitte? Monsieur Bobby seemed better than that.”

“Oh, _come on_ , Louise. All these rich men are alike. So, who’s Brigitte?”

“The girl who’s here. She and I went to school together. And her family owns the mechanic shop in town.”

“Oh, I know Maria Bernard. Huh, a mechanic? Seems a little ‘low born’ for him.”

“I suppose. Brigitte is nice, I guess… and pretty enough, but…”

“She must be just a little summer fun. You know, keep him entertained until he returns to his fiancée in the fall. But I wouldn’t have expected Maria to allow her daughter to be a rich man’s plaything!”

There was a pause. “You know, the other day I saw some awfully expensive looking earrings in Monsieur Bobby’s room and now they aren’t there. Do you think they were for Brigitte?"

“Maybe.” There was another pause, then the voices continued. “I bet she wouldn’t give it up. Trying to buy himself pussy, I suppose.”

“ _Alice_!”

“You know how these rich men are! They’re perfectly willing to fuck the maids… but rich men don't marry mechanic's daughters. And they’ll find ways to get what they want.”

And with that pronouncement the voices moved away, leaving Brigitte pressed up against the wall, her head spinning. _That can't be true. They misunderstood. Bobby’s not engaged. And those earrings… they weren’t… It wasn’t like that. Right?_

Her inner monologue trailed off, leaving her feeling empty. Returning to the vanity, she plopped down. It was already mid-July and Bobby would be going back to the United States in just over a month. And other than his glib remark about taking her to the Mediterranean next summer, they had yet to speak about what their enforced separation would mean.

She highly doubted he had a fiancée back home, he couldn’t be _that_ good of a liar, but… was she just some summer fling before university? Did he think that giving her some expensive earrings would, as the maids had so elegantly put it, buy her pussy?

Brigitte took a deep breath. No. This was all just idle gossip. These maids had not even seen them together. All they knew were some words they’d overheard in English… which Brigitte couldn’t imagine they spoke better than her. It was all a misunderstanding. It had to be.

Except… she sighed as she let the truth of one thing settle in her head. _Rich men don’t marry mechanic’s daughters_.

Staring at her reflection for several long minutes, she tried to collect her thoughts. So what if this was just for the summer? It’s not like she was planning to marry him after all… right? She just needed to talk with him, understand where he was coming from. All they really needed to do was talk.

Resolved, she stood and headed for the door. In the hall she found Louise, who was clearly waiting for Brigitte but who refused to meet her eyes.

“Do you know where Bobby is?” Brigitte asked, trying to sound more sure of herself than she actually was.

Louise still didn’t look at Brigitte, but she did respond to the question. “Monsieur Bobby is in the parlor, waiting for you. I can take you to him. If you’d like.”

 _Monsieur Bobby_ … She still couldn’t get over that. “I…yes. Thank you.”

Louise nodded and led her quietly out of the room. The silence was oppressively awkward to Brigitte. Had she run into Louise in the neighborhood, they would have exchanged pleasantries and chatted about family and life. But here… there was a giant chasm that had opened between them.

Finally, mercifully, they arrived at the parlor. But it was empty.

Louise turned to Brigitte. “Wait here, Bri—Mademoiselle. I will find Monsieur Bobby and tell him where you are.”

 _Well, that was terribly awkward,_ Brigitte thought. After Louise left, she started wandering around the room. She was making her fifth nervous pass by the large windows on the side of the room when she heard another door open. _Thank God,_ she thought, turning towards the door, grateful to see Bobby and get the hell out of here.

Instead of Bobby, however, a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair entered the room. Brigitte swallowed nervously. The man was well dressed and looked like he was in a hurry. _That must be Bobby’s father._ The man didn’t look in Brigitte’s direction at first. He seemed about to pass through the room without stopping, when he slowed and turned towards her.

“ _Who the hell are you?_ ” he asked in English.

Brigitte froze. What should she say? It didn’t seem like a hard question, but his manner so completely unsettled her that she couldn’t convince her brain and mouth to work together to form words. She was still struggling to respond when she heard the door open again.

This time, thankfully, it was Bobby. His eyes met hers and he smiled widely for a moment. But then his face fell at the sight of his father with Brigitte and he rushed over to them, speaking somewhat quickly in English, “ _Brigitte! Dad! I… Dad, this is Brigitte. We got caught in the rain, but we were just leaving. Right, Brigitte?”_ He took her hand in his and looked pointedly at the door.

Robert looked from his son to Brigitte and back again, realization spreading across his face. “ _Bridget. Of course. You know, Bobby, you should really inform me when you are having guests. If you’ll excuse me…”_ Robert left quickly, leaving Bobby and Brigitte alone again in the large parlor.

Brigitte stood there, trying to process all that had just happened. She tried to form words, to tell Bobby what she had heard the maids say, to ask why his father had been so dismissive, but she was still so perturbed by the whole situation she didn’t know what to say. _Was Bobby ashamed of me?_ All she could express was her overwhelming desire to get out of this house. “I... actually, can I just go home?” Bobby looked at Brigitte surprised.

“You do not want to continue the bike ride? The weather is nice again.”

“No, I… I should help Mama prepare dinner.”

Bobby still looked confused. “You did not say this before.”

She knew it was a lame excuse, but for some reason, she felt the sudden need to be home. “Yes, sorry,” was Brigitte’s only reply as she hurried towards the door.

“ _Hey, hold on. Where’s the fire?_ ” Bobby called after her in English, having to pause to grab his jacket before following her outside.

Brigitte ran down the steps, finding herself in the gravel drive in front of the house. Ignoring what she was sure was an idiom, she called to him, “Where’re the bikes?”

“In the garage…” He paused for a moment. “Seriously, Brigitte. What is going on?”

“Nothing. I’m just late,” she lied.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. He obviously wasn’t buying it. “Well, okay. But you can tell me… if something is going on.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, the concern evident in his eyes.

Taking his hands in hers, she removed them. “I’m fine, really. I just need to go home.”

“Alright. I’ll go get the bikes.”

They rode back to her house in relative silence. Brigitte felt her heart lighten as the distance increased between her and that damn house. By the time they were in her garden, she was in a significantly better mood. Leaning her bike against the wall she turned to see Bobby doing the same.

“Maybe I can help too? I can learn to make that bean salad. Then I can make it for you in the future.”

 _The future._ The words echoed around in her head as Bobby smiled at her. She considered making an excuse, to say he should just go back home but then he placed his arms around her waist. Holding her close he kissed her neck and whispered in her ear in English, “ _Please_.”

Brigitte felt her doubts start to melt away as she leaned against him. “Okay, let’s go see what Mama wants us to do.”

* * *

Dinner that night was relatively uneventful, with one exception.

When Brigitte and Bobby had entered the kitchen, supposedly to help Madame Bernard, Maria had grabbed Brigitte, holding her tight. “Mama?” Brigitte asked, obviously a bit shocked by her mother’s actions. Maria started talking quickly to Brigitte in Spanish, but Bobby did understand a few words. One of them was the same in French and Spanish: war.

Brigitte shook her head as her mother spoke, seeming to be in a shocked silence. Finally, Brigitte seemed to remember that Bobby was standing there. Maria had seemed to calm down a bit, allowing Brigitte to translate. “There has been a coup in Spain. A fascist group, the Nationalists, have taken Sevilla and maybe a large portion of the north. It’s not totally clear what is happening. But it looks like civil war.”

Bobby’s eyes widened. “When did this happen?”

“Yesterday.”

Bobby paused, trying to process all this. Brigitte brought him out of his thoughts. “My mama has sent letters to her family. She’s from Córdoba, which is near Sevilla…” Brigitte trailed off. “But we won’t know for days how they are.”

 _What a day to have ‘dinner with the parents’,_ Bobby thought to himself. He turned to Brigitte’s mom. “Madame Bernard, if you do not want me to stay for dinner, I understand.”

“No, no.” Maria waved her hand. “If we stop our lives for war, the enemy wins. You will stay.” She walked over and grabbed the arms of the two young people. “I only thank God you were not here for the Great War… and that we are not in Spain now. God willing, you will never have to live through something so terrible. Now let us speak of it no more.” Bobby was unsure of what to say, so he merely nodded.

Brigitte then told her mother that they were here to help her prepare the meal. Maria seemed a little surprised by this, which only further convinced Bobby that something had happened at his house. He thought back to how dismissive of her his father had been, not even saying hello. _Downright rude_ , Bobby thought to himself as he chopped vegetables.

Working with Brigitte’s mom to prepare dinner was… interesting. Brigitte was kicked out of the kitchen and told to set the table almost immediately, but Bobby was allowed to stay and Madame Bernard had actually complemented his ability to make the pieces of vegetables all approximately the same size. Bobby had smiled at her words, as it was obvious from her interaction with Brigitte that this woman was sparing with her praise.

Dinner came and went and Bobby was rather pleased that it had gone so well… except for how quiet Brigitte was. _My stupid father_ , he mused, upset by the thought that his father had offended Brigitte. But he tried to put these thoughts aside and focus on the moment.

Brigitte’s father was very nice and seemed interested in what Bobby was doing. He had a lot of technical questions about steel forming that Bobby was not fully able to answer. Soon, the conversation devolved into Brigitte and her father discussing the merits of different types of steels. _Wow, Brigitte should be the one that works at the plant, not me_. Bobby chuckled at the thought, but then wondered if Brigitte might actually be interested in seeing the plant… maybe on a day when his father was out of town. Brigitte’s mother was quiet for most of dinner, having pretty thoroughly interrogated him while he was acting as her sous chef.  By the end of the evening, Bobby was pretty sure he had won them both over.

After Bobby said his goodbyes to Brigitte’s parents, she accompanied him outside and stood by his car with him for a more private farewell.

“I thought that went well.” Bobby smiled and took Brigitte’s hands in his.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I think my mama might like you more than me.”

“She only likes how I cut vegetables.” Brigitte laughed slightly. Bobby hoped that her light mood would allow her to open up. “Brigitte… please tell me what bothered you today.”

He watched as she fidgeted, obviously wrestling with her emotions. Finally, she spoke. “It was really nothing. I’m over it.”

Bobby doubted the veracity of this claim, but he chose not to press her on it. That would only make her mad. Instead he kissed her lightly on the top of the head. “Okay. Can I see you again this week? Are you free?”

Brigitte smiled a smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Yes. Um, I think Thursday?”

“I will come by Thursday after work. And maybe this weekend we can go to see the castle?”

Rolling her eyes, Brigitte replied, “I have no idea why you want to see that pile of rocks, but I did promise.”

He moved his lips within inches of hers. “Yes, you did.” He kissed her, relishing in the warmth of her lips and the taste that was uniquely Brigitte. It was warm and heady and in the moment, he began to tell her he loved her.

That was, until he pulled back and saw the expression on her face. “What?” he asked.

“You taste like onion.”

The moment broken, Bobby broke out into a laugh. “I guess I should carry a mint.”

“It would be prudent.”

“‘Prudent’?” he asked, not knowing the word.

“A good idea,” Brigitte supplied.

“’Prudent’,” Bobby repeated slowly, trying to get the word to stick in his head. He looked at the time, nearly ten p.m. “I better get going so I do not get in trouble with my father.”

“Yes, of course.”

He started to lean in to kiss her goodbye, but it was obvious she had something more to say. “What?” he asked, again.

“Well…” she began slowly. “Maybe I should have dinner with you and your father. Since you’ve met my parents. And I’ve only met your father so briefly today… Maybe at a restaurant or something…”

So it _was_ his father that had upset her. _But why does she want to have_ dinner _with him?_ he wondered. Maybe she thought the second time he would actually be polite to her? Whatever her motivation, the whole idea did not sit well with Bobby. He thought of how to explain. “I do not know, Brigitte. He… I have enough trouble getting along with him. He is an ass. I do not want to make you suffer through that.”

Brigitte’s face fell a little. “Oh.”

“Believe me, it is better to not spend time with him. Is that okay?”

He could see she was a bit bothered by his words. “Of course. No problem. But I will have to meet him someday.”

Bobby sighed. His father being an ass to Brigitte was not a day he looked forward to. “I suppose one day,” he lamented.

Brigitte still seemed less than satisfied with his response, but looking again at his watch he realized he had to go. “I am sorry, Brigitte. We can talk about it later? I really have to go.”

“Of course. Later.” Her voice was unnervingly even.

“And I will see you Thursday? After work?”

“Yes. See you then.”

Bobby kissed her one last time and hopped into the car. Although he was still a bit concerned about what was going on with Brigitte, he was sure it would blow over. She would either get over it or finally get around to talking to him about it. Really, there was nothing he could do until then.

Well, maybe there was something. He thought back to the moment where he had almost told her he loved her and was almost glad he hadn’t. _It should be more special than that_ , he mused. Maybe at sunset… at the castle this weekend. _Yes,_ he thought. _That will be perfect_.

* * *

Brigitte knocked at the door and waited.

“Just a moment,” the voice came from the other side. Moments later, the door opened to reveal a tall, dark haired man. “Oh, hi Brigitte,” Jean said, and then called over his shoulder, “Simone, Brigitte is here.”

He stepped away from the door and headed over to the kitchen table. Brigitte closed the door and followed him to where Simone was still sitting at the table. “Brigitte, we were just finishing dinner. Have you eaten? We have just a little left over but I could--”

“No, it’s fine, thanks,” Brigitte interrupted. “I’m really sorry to interrupt dinner, but… can I talk to you for a moment?”

Brigitte watched as Jean and Simone exchanged a look. “Sure,” Simone said, rising. “Let’s go into the bedroom. Jean, feel free to finish without me.”

Jean silently nodded as he continued to eat. Brigitte followed Simone into the bedroom and sat on the bed as Simone closed the door. “Alright, what is so important?” Simone asked.

“Well… a lot has happened this weekend.” Brigitte then went on to describe the events of the past two days, the earrings and Bobby’s wealth, the gossip from the maids, and finally Bobby not wanting her to meet his father. Simone sat silently, taking it all in. “Well, what do you think? Is it just a summer fling? And why is he so afraid of me meeting his father?”

Simone shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

“But what about how rich he is…?”

“He’d never mentioned that before?” Simone asked.

“Not really. But then again I never asked for a pay stub.”

Simone laughed. “Well, maybe for him it’s not a big deal. Probably everyone he knows is rich, so he didn’t even think to mention it.”

“But _I’m_ not!” Brigitte sighed. “So why is he dating me?”

“Oh, come on Brigitte,” Simone huffed. “The heart wants what it wants! You’re pretty and smart and interesting. I mean, okay, maybe your relationship is a bit less probable given… the difference in social class.” Simone paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “But look, you’re not ready to get married anyway. So what if it’s just for the summer? You’re not in love with him or anything.”

Brigitte froze. Simone must have noticed her reaction. “Oh, no. Did you tell him you loved him and he didn’t say it back?”

“No…”

“But you are in love with him?”

“Maybe…” she admitted before putting her head in her hands. “I don’t know. I like him a lot and it makes me,” she paused, trying to think of the right way to put it. “My stomach feels sick when I think about how he has to go back to the United States in just a month. I just don’t want it to happen.”

Brigitte felt the bed depress slightly as Simone sat down next to her. “Look, it is what it is,” Simone said, smoothing her younger cousin’s hair. “Maybe you can make it work, maybe you can’t. But you have to talk to him. Tell him what you’re feeling. You can’t have a good relationship without communication.”

“Okay.” Brigitte sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

Simone smiled. “Good. Just promise me you won’t stress yourself out about this before you talk. It might be nothing.”

* * *

Philippe Bernard was putting away his tools for the day when he heard the distinctive sound of the Traction Avant coming down the street. Brigitte picked up the pace of putting her own tools away, evidently also having heard the sound of the car.

These evening visits were becoming increasingly frequent, and Philippe wondered how Brigitte would take it when Bobby left in August. 

He hoped not too badly.

Brigitte was talking to Bobby now, the two of them standing just outside the garage door. Even though they had only spent a limited amount of time in each other’s company, Philippe was surprised by how much he liked Bobby. He seemed like a good lad, respectful and obviously raised right. And Maria liked him… despite what happened at the lake.

Philippe had always expected that when men started chasing after his only daughter, he would be much more protective. But he found it strangely easy to let her be independent, to go off alone with Bobby. _I suppose that’s a good thing, considering that she’s leaving in a month… she’ll need to be able to take care of herself._

Despite wanting to give his daughter space, he was still curious. So, in the evenings when Bobby would come, Philippe would make himself scarce, but try to stay within earshot.

“I have something for you.” Bobby’s accented voice wafted to Philippe’s somewhat hidden position at his workbench.

“Oh?” Brigitte replied as Philippe took out his ledger to start looking over the day’s receipts.

“Yes. On ‘English Day,’ you told me about you and Simone on the moon. When you were young.” Philippe smiled at the memory of the two girls running around and talking to the air. Bobby continued, bringing him out of his reverie, “It reminded me of this book. I found it in English at the bookshop. I want you to have it, so you can remember.”

 _This boy is too sweet_ , Philippe thought, not for the first time.

He then heard Brigitte say something in English. He didn’t understand it, except for the words ‘Jules Verne’. Then a firestorm of French erupted from Brigitte. “Bobby! _From the Earth to the Moon_ is a French novel! Jules Verne is French! He’s from Amiens! This… this is like me giving you _Great Expectations_ translated into French!”

Philippe chuckled when he heard Bobby stammer, “I… I know. I… you talked about the moon… I remembered reading this book as a child.”

“You read Verne as a child!?”

“Yeah, why?”

“His novels are a bit avant-garde for children.”

“Um, okay,” came Bobby’s reply.

There was a moment of silence and Philippe waited, a little on edge, to see how Bobby would react to one of Brigitte’s typical outbursts. A moment later, he got his answer.

“Well, if you want to give me _Great Expectations_ in French, that is fine. But I like _A Christmas Carol_ better.”

With that Brigitte’s laughter echoed through the garage. “I’m sorry Bobby. This is very thoughtful. And I’ve read the book in French, so maybe I will be able to follow it better in English.” There was a pause, which Philippe was sure was filled with a kiss. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Another pause. “Would you like to go for a walk before dinner?”

“I would. Let me just get out of these coveralls.” Philippe heard Brigitte’s footsteps approaching and quickly busied himself with the ledger. As she stripped out of the dirty clothes, she said to him, “I’m going for a walk, I’ll be back later.”

“Have fun. Be home by eight for dinner,” Philippe responded.

“I will.”

Philippe turned and watched Brigitte walk back to where Bobby was standing in the garage door. He offered his hand and she grasped it.

Philippe shook his head. Leave it to Brigitte to fall in love with someone who lived halfway around the world.

* * *

“ _Oh my God! Brigitte! It’s a murder hole!”_ Bobby cried out in English while standing precariously on the castle wall. He had scurried up there while Brigitte had trudged from the courtyard they had just been looking at, very much regretting her choice in footwear. Now he crouched down, peering at her through a hole that connected his level to the entryway where she stood. She looked up to see him smiling down at her. “Hello,” he said and waved, then tried to reach his arm through the hole.

Brigitte sighed. This was seriously like chasing around a small child. Her feet hurt and she was tired of looking at rocks. Not to mention it had to be nearly 35 degrees outside… “I’m going to go sit over there,” she said, pointing to a shady part of the dilapidated wall.

“Okay,” Bobby called out, having already found a new rock to look at.

Sitting, she carefully removed her shoe, wincing at the blister that the strappy sandals had worn on her ankle. She really should have realized that when Bobby said he wanted to see the castle and have a picnic, he didn’t mean just look at it from the roadside. He meant climb all the way to the top of the hill and explore every nook and cranny.

“Brigitte! Look!” Bobby called out. She turned and craned her head to see him standing next to a hole in the wall. His right hand was drawn back near his ear and his left was held out straight in front of him. “I’m an…” he trailed off, obviously not knowing the word. “One of those guys…” he attempted again, before pantomiming, and making little ‘pew, pew’ noises.

“An ‘archer’,” Brigitte called out to him.

“Yes! I am one of them!”

“Sure you are…” Brigitte turned her attention back to the countryside. She had been hoping to actually have a serious conversation about their future at some point today. Between the maids’ gossip and his objection to the idea of her having dinner with his father, Brigitte really wanted to know what was going on. She had wanted to talk with him about it while they walked on Thursday, but she could never find the right moment.

But she was resolved to have this talk today. If only Bobby would stand still for thirty seconds.

 

Today was the day he was going to tell her he was in love with her.

Standing on the battlement, Bobby looked down at Brigitte. She was sitting on a short wall, examining her feet. It was obvious she was not nearly as interested in the castle as he was. He didn’t quite understand why she didn’t think this was interesting. The castle was just a skeleton of what he imagined it had been at its high point. But no one had given it any thought in probably at least one hundred years. And if Brigitte was any indication, no one from the town could have cared less about it.

 _Their loss_ , thought Bobby as he leapt from stone to stone. Their lack of fascination with it meant that he and Brigitte had it all to themselves.

After a few more hops, he looked back at Brigitte. She really looked bored. Maybe some food would pick her up a bit?

He hopped back over to where he had left the food and soon was standing next to Brigitte, basket in hand. “Do you want to go sit in the courtyard?”

After putting her shoe back on, Brigitte stood. “Sure.”

They quickly got to the sheltered courtyard, which was surrounded on all sides by the remains of a high wall. Bobby laid out a blanket and Brigitte almost immediately plopped down on it and removed her shoes.

He took a sandwich out of the basket and offered it to her. She shook her head in refusal.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he put the sandwich back.

“I’m just not hungry.”

 

“Okay.”

Brigitte barely heard Bobby’s response. She was trying to build up all her courage to ask the question: where is this going? He was finally sitting still, they were alone, and there was nothing that could interrupt them. It was the perfect time to ask.

She had just opened her mouth when she felt his lips on her neck. She closed her eyes and drank in the feeling of his kisses on her skin. _It can wait a few minutes._

 

Bobby heard Brigitte sigh at his touch, and felt emboldened. He laid her down on the blanket, and moved his trail of kisses from her neck to her mouth. He was instantly hard, aching for her. His pants dug into his sensitive flesh, so he reached down, unfastening them before bringing his hand back up to her face. He drew back and looked at her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You are not wearing the earrings,” he commented, noting she was just wearing simple silver studs.

“No…” she trailed off.

“But they look so pretty on you,” he murmured as he kissed down her neck.

“Yes, but they are very… fancy.” He could barely focus on her voice, he was so caught up in the feel of her body.

“Maybe I need to take you to more fancy places before I leave you.” He slipped his hand under her, grasping her ass with his hand.

 

Brigitte began to panic. _More fancy places before he leaves me? Did he misspeak?_ _Just what does “leaves” mean?_ Brigitte was too caught up in her own thoughts to really notice what Bobby was doing until he rolled on top of her. She could feel him hard against her crotch, his hips rocking lightly against her. Brigitte suddenly realized his pants were undone and her skirt was up around her waist. His hand had moved from her ass and now seemed to be seeking a way to get under her panties at the crotch. The heat and the humidity combined with the motions of Bobby on top of her felt suffocating and she began to get light-headed. His hips moved again and he moaned in her ear in English, “ _Oh God, I want you so badly_.”

Brigitte couldn’t handle it. She shoved him off of her and sat up quickly. _It’s true,_ she thought. _They were right_. _Mama was right too._ _He just wants to have sex. I_ am _just some “summer fun”._

 

One moment Bobby was in heaven and the next he was lying on his back, Brigitte having shoved him off of her. “Brigitte, are you okay? What is wrong?” Bobby looked at her, concerned. He wasn’t sure what he had done. Sure, he’d been a bit aggressive in feeling her up, but considering what they’d done to each other at the lake, he didn’t think she would be opposed to a little groping.

But now her knees were drawn up and her forehead was resting on them. She was taking deep gulps of air. He reached out and placed a hand attentively on her shoulder, just to have her bat it away.

“Brigitte, please, what is going on?”

“Oh, like you don’t know,” she spat.

“No, I don’t.”

“You just want to fuck me and then leave me!”

Bobby paused, having not really understood what she had said. “I want to what?”

Brigitte stood. “You just want to have sex with me!”

That one he understood, but Brigitte was already leaving the courtyard, her shoes in her hand, leaving Bobby to hurriedly throw everything back in the basket before following her.

 

Brigitte couldn’t get very far, hobbled by her bare feet, so Bobby was back at her side quickly. “Brigitte, I do not understand. Of course I want to have sex with you. You are beautiful and I am a man.”

Brigitte could have hit him in that moment. She should have known this was all too good to be true. How could she have been so blinded by his charms? He really was just like every other man. “Just take me home,” she demanded.

“Brigitte, can we please just talk?”

“I’m too mad to talk. Just take me the hell home!”

 

They had just reached the car as Brigitte had let out her second demand to be taken home. “ _Fine!_ ” Bobby nearly shouted in English, his confusion turning into anger. Unable to slow his thoughts enough to speak in French, he yelled at her in English. “ _I’ll take you home, but you can’t keep refusing to talk to me! What the hell did I do to you?_ ”

Brigitte paused for a moment, and he could see the sadness in her eyes. “Please just take me home,” she pleaded, her voice strangely soft. 

Bobby’s stomach felt slightly sick at the thought that, whatever he did, it had made Brigitte so upset. Not knowing what else to do, he relented. “Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

As he drove back to town, Bobby kept glancing at Brigitte, but every time he looked at her, she was looking out the passenger window. Bobby was completely at a loss as to how things had gone downhill so fast. Things had been going so well, and then suddenly she was yelling at him.

Bobby sighed. “Look, Brigitte--”

“I don’t want to talk, Bobby. Just take me home.”

Bobby’s hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel and he gritted his teeth. “I told you I would. I just thought--”

“Bobby! What part of ‘I’m too angry to talk’ are you not understanding!?”

Bobby looked back at Brigitte. “Damn it, Brigitte! Whatever I did, I am sorry, okay!”

This finally got a rise out of Brigitte. “What kills me is that you think all you have to do is say ‘sorry’ and that makes this whole situation okay!”

“What ‘situation’?” Bobby yelled, still looking at Brigitte.

His eyes off the road, Bobby didn’t see the sharp turn ahead of him until it was too late. The car went off the road and Bobby slammed on the brakes, throwing Brigitte forward.

 

The next thing Bobby knew, he had a splitting headache. He raised a hand to his forehead and swore. Realizing he was still in his car, he looked immediately for Brigitte. She was still there, but she was slumped between the door and the dashboard. She wasn’t moving.

“ _Brigitte! Damn it!_ ” He pulled her into his arms, running his hand along her face and pleading with her to wake up, but to no avail. Blood was dripping down the side of her face from an abrasion, probably where her forehead slammed against the dashboard. Not getting a response, Bobby watched her chest to see if she was breathing. He was reassured to see that her chest rose and fell slowly but surely. Now convinced that she was at least alive, Bobby turned his attention to the car. He had to get her to a doctor as soon as possible and to do that, he needed the car.

He turned the ignition to start the car, and was thankful when it roared to life. He threw the car in gear and started to engage the clutch. The terrible sound of metal clashing on metal was all that greeted him. Killing the engine, he quickly got out and started inspecting the car. A tire was flat, but no matter, he could drive on the wheel for the half-mile it was to his house. Opening the hood, everything looked in order there, to his novice eye. Finally, Bobby crawled under the car and saw it: the front axle was broken. He must have hit a rock on the way down the hill.

That was it, the car was kaput.

When Bobby realized he wouldn’t be able to get the car moving again, he felt his stomach drop. He couldn’t let anything happen to Brigitte. His head was still killing him, but they were on a quickly darkening road with no hope of being found and the car wasn’t going anywhere. But his home was just over the hill. Bobby got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and took Brigitte into his arms. Then he started walking.

* * *

The sun was going down as he approached his house. As he got close, he started yelling in English. “ _Edmond! Edmond! Call the doctor!_ ” Bobby hadn’t gotten a response by the time he got to the door, which he couldn’t open while carrying Brigitte. " _Edmond!_ " He started kicking the door and just as he started, the door suddenly opened.

“ _Monsieur Bobby! What happened?_ ”

Bobby strode through the door. “ _She needs a doctor. Call the doctor!_ ” Edmond paused, startled by Bobby’s sudden appearance. “ _What are you waiting for?_ ” he demanded. The butler finally hurried off to place the call, and Bobby noticed that some of the maids had heard the commotion and were peering timidly through the various doorways into the entryway. “ _Margueritte! Alice! Louise! Get a guest room prepared. Help me get Brigitte into bed._ "

Once in the room, he laid Brigitte gently down on the bed and Alice appeared behind him to help him get her settled. Brigitte moaned but didn't wake up. Margueritte entered soon afterwards, carrying towels and a bucket of warm water. Bobby immediately started trying to clean the blood from Brigitte's face and neck, and she stirred a little at his touch but didn't open her eyes. He was so focused on Brigitte he almost didn't hear the voice behind him.

"Monsieur Bobby, is… is she okay? Can I help?” Bobby’s mind processed the French with relative ease and he turned to see Louise standing in the doorway.

"I do not know. Please, bring the doctor here when he arrives."

Bobby expected her to leave immediately, but Louise shuffled nervously before saying, “I know her family. Should I contact them?”

“Yes, do that.” Bobby said, turning his attention back to Brigitte. _Wait, she knows Brigitte?_   Bobby questioned, but when he turned to ask, Louise had already hurried off.

A scraping noise momentarily drew Bobby’s attention away from Brigitte. Margueritte was dragging a chair over, and motioned for him to sit down. She then gently took the washcloth from his hand, folded it, then returned it to him. “You have to stop the bleeding. Press firmly here,” she said, taking his hand in her own and pressing it against the bleeding cut on Brigitte’s forehead. Removing her hand, she whispered, “She’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much.” All Bobby could do in response was nod. Margueritte, seeing nothing more that could be done, left, with Alice in tow.

What could have been minutes or hours passed as Bobby sat, pressing the damp washcloth against Brigitte’s head. Finally, she groaned and her eyelids fluttered.

Bobby’s heart skipped a beat. "Brigitte, how do you feel?"

She slowly opened her eyes and she struggled to focus on her surroundings. "Bobby? I... what happened? Where... where am I?"

"We were in a car accident, Brigitte. You were hurt. You are at my home. A doctor is coming." Bobby took her hand in his and she squeezed it in return before raising her other hand to her forehead.

Meeting his hand, she asked, "What’s going on? My head, God, it hurts."

Bobby nodded. "I know, you hit it pretty hard. You were..." he searched for the word. “You were asleep. Do you understand?”

Brigitte nodded, and then winced from the motion.

“Just hold still. The doctor will be here soon.”

“Okay. But I feel tired and queasy.”

Although Bobby really didn’t want to learn more French words at the moment, he did want to know Brigitte’s symptoms. “I am so sorry, Brigitte. Explain ‘queasy’.”

Brigitte took a breath, but a voice interrupted. “She means her stomach is sick.”

Bobby turned at the unfamiliar voice. A man was standing in the door, Louise next to him. “Monsieur Bobby, this is Doctor Proulx.”

The doctor walked quickly to where Bobby was sitting. “You’ve done well, son, thank you. Now go wait and let me examine her.”

Reluctantly, Bobby stood and walked towards the door, where Louise was still standing. “Monsieur, I sent the driver out to her house to get her parents. He will return with them.”

Grateful, Bobby let out a long held breath. “Thank you, Louise.” She had started to leave when Bobby called out. “Wait. How do you know her family?”

Louise slowly turned to face him. She seemed to consider her answer before speaking. “Brigitte and I went to grammar school together. She lives only a couple of streets from me.”

“Oh.” Bobby looked from Louise to Brigitte and back again. A strange feeling suddenly caught in his chest. How had he not noticed Louise before? She certainly had hopes and dreams, like he and Brigitte did. But until that moment he had just seen her… as a servant.

“Is that all, Monsieur?” Louise was still standing there, waiting for her next orders.

“Yes, that is all. And… please, call me just Bobby from now on.”

Louise’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Um, okay… Bobby.”

He gave her a small smile before returning his attention to Brigitte and the doctor.

* * *

“They weren’t there, Monsieur. I waited for about twenty minutes before I thought it best to come back,” Mathieu, the driver, told Bobby.

 _Where the hell could they be?_ Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bobby sighed. He thought to send the driver after Simone, only to realize he didn’t actually know where she lived. Not really knowing what else to do, Bobby replied, “That is okay, thank you, Mathieu.”

"Do you want me to go back to her house and wait, Monsieur?”

Bobby eyed the young man, suddenly realizing that, like Louise, they were about the same age. “No. I will ask about it when she wakes.” Bobby paused before continuing, “And just call me Bobby, okay?”

The other man arched his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.” Raising his voice slightly, he reiterated as he walked back up the stairs, “Everyone just call me Bobby!”

Bobby could hear the commotion in the house stop for a moment after his pronouncement, but then the din slowly picked back up. Unconcerned with the staff for the moment, Bobby headed for the spare bedroom.

Once the doctor had finished examining Brigitte, he reported that she just had a sprained ankle and a concussion. Bobby had shown him out, thanking him profusely for coming. By the time Bobby had returned to her room, Brigitte was already asleep. Trudging back downstairs, Bobby had consulted with Edmond about what to do with his car, which was in a ditch near the main road. For once, Bobby wished that his father was around, but he had left that morning to go to Paris for a series of meetings early next week.

So that left Bobby in charge. And he was really unsure what do to. Fortunately, Edmond had taken pity on him and said he would deal with the stranded vehicle.

Bobby headed back to Brigitte’s room, sighing for what felt like the millionth time that hour. He looked at the empty chair next to the bed, but it was hard and uncomfortable. Not knowing how long he would have to wait, Bobby went back into his room and grabbed his book. Returning to Brigitte, he kicked off his shoes, and stacked the pillows on the opposite side of the bed so that he could sit and read in relative comfort.  

 

As Brigitte floated near consciousness, she regretted that she had a head. The pounding seemed unbearable, and she wanted nothing more than to float back into a deep sleep. But alas, her bladder refused to be ignored and she slowly opened her eyes.

She was still in Bobby’s spare bedroom, the same one she had taken a bath in a week ago. Bobby was no longer in the chair next to her bed, and Brigitte felt a slight panic set in at being left alone in this stupid house again. Then she heard something behind her. Brigitte placed her right foot against the bed to roll over and instantly regretted it. Sucking in a deep breath of air, she recalled the whole ‘sprained ankle’ part of what the doctor had said. Sighing, she attempted the maneuver again, this time only using her left leg and arms. After what seemed like an eternity she succeeded, finding Bobby asleep next to her. At first she was relieved to see him, but then the panic sank in. Had Louise seen them like this? What would people say?

Reaching out, she shook him. “Bobby… Bobby!”

His eyes fluttered open. “Brigitte! How do you feel?” He looked her over, his eyes landing on her forehead. She wondered what it looked like.

“I feel…” she paused. “My head hurts. And my whole body aches.”

Bobby glanced at a clock. “Do you want more pain medicine? Four hours have passed.”

Brigitte nodded, causing Bobby to nearly jump out of the bed and start collecting the necessary items. Brigitte slowly sat herself up, careful to only use her left foot and arms to do so. She had just gotten herself situated when Bobby got back. He handed her a glass of water and a couple of white pills. “I could have helped you sit up.”

“I managed on my own.” Brigitte took the pills and water from him. She popped in the pills and took several long drinks of water to wash them down. Setting the water on the bedside table, Brigitte noticed that Bobby was down near the foot of the bed, starting to take the blanket off. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at her. “I want to check your foot.”

“You could have asked me.”

Bobby looked a bit confused, but replied, “Sorry.”

Brigitte reached to throw off the blanket and gingerly adjusted her leg so they both could see it. It was as she expected. Her ankle was swollen to the point that her calf and foot now seemed directly connected. It had bruised slightly, but all in all not too bad. Satisfied that her ankle would be fine in time, Brigitte swung her feet off the bed and started to rise.

“ _What the hell are you doing?_ ” Bobby gasped in English. He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her from moving. She started to fight him, but the pounding in her head gave her pause.

“I have to use the toilet,” she snapped.

“Oh.”

She started to rise again, but Bobby had not removed his hands. If she’d had the energy, she would have been tempted to slap him. “Bobby, it’s not that bad. I’ve sprained my ankle before. I know I can walk the twenty steps to the toilet.”

“Let me help you at least.” Bobby moved his hands under her arms and lifted her into a standing position. Holding onto his shoulders, Brigitte slowly put weight onto her lame foot, increasing it to test the limits of what the ankle could handle. Normally she would have just hopped, but the pounding in her head made that sound like the worst idea ever. So she slowly hobbled, using Bobby as a crutch, until they had finally made it to the toilet.

Although they had arrived, Bobby just stood there. “I don’t need help with this part.”

Bobby still seemed hesitant to leave. “Are you sure? I mean, not that I want to watch you, but if you need help…” he trailed off.

“I’m very sure. Leave.” Bobby finally turned to go, leaving Brigitte to her business.

After an only slightly harrowing experience of getting on and off the toilet, Brigitte hobbled over to the basin to wash her hands. Above the sink was a mirror, so she also took the opportunity to investigate her head. While she had been nonplussed by the ankle, her face was a completely different matter. She had known the doctor had stitched her head, having been awake for that. But she had not been prepared for the bruising and swelling. As she continued to investigate, she saw her dress had dark red stains and that her hair was matted with dried blood.

In short: she was a mess.

A knock interrupted her examination. “Brigitte? Are you alright? I heard the toilet… um… I do not know the word. Take away the water.”

She sighed. The fact that he was listening made her a bit uncomfortable. “Flush. And yes, I’m fine.”

There was a pause. “Do you need help?”

Brigitte hobbled over to the door and opened it, revealing Bobby.

 

Brigitte opened the door. Bobby reached out for her immediately. _Why is she being so stubborn?_ he wondered as he tried to help her back to the bed. She had always been independent, but this was ridiculous. He chose not to say anything, knowing that would only make her even more recalcitrant.

They finally reached the bed, and he restacked the pillows at her feet. Gently lifting her leg, he placed it on the pile, trying to get her foot above her heart, as the doctor had recommended. He lightly brushed his fingers on her leg, staring at the swollen mass that had been her ankle. “ _I’m so sorry_ ,” he mumbled in English.

“Are you apologizing to my ankle?”  

Bobby turned. “No. Well, yes. I mean, I am sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean to.”

“I still feel bad.”

Brigitte had settled back into the bed, and it looked like her eyes were growing heavy again. Bobby felt an overwhelming need to hold her, to be physically close and know that she was okay. Circling the bed, he climbed back in, this time under the covers, and reached out for her.

Rather than settling into his arms, Brigitte stiffened and moved away. “Bobby…” she began. “This isn’t appropriate.”

Bobby wasn’t exactly sure what she was talking about. How was holding her not appropriate? He thought back to how mad she had gotten this afternoon when they had been making out… and how strangely she had been acting the whole week. What was going on?

“Why is it not ‘appropriate’?” he asked.

“Because… what will people think?”

 _Think about what? Me comforting my hurt girlfriend?_ “I do not understand. Everyone here knows you are my girlfriend. They saw me sitting here earlier.”

“Oh, great. So now they all think we are sleeping together.”

Bobby opened and shut his mouth a couple times. What in the world was she talking about? “Why… why do you say this?”

He watched as Brigitte curled up on her side, facing away from him. It was becoming clear to him that Brigitte seemed to have only two speeds when it came to emotions, yelling or withdrawn. He reached out, trying to comfort her. “Brigitte, tell me why you say this.”

He heard her let out a long breath. “Because that is what rich men do with poor girls.”

Bobby was shocked silent. His mind suddenly jumped back to New York, where he had heard rumors of his friends’ fathers carrying on with the maid. The faceless maid in the stories was suddenly replaced with Louise… the girl that went to school with Brigitte. Is this how Brigitte saw herself? Is that what Brigitte thought was going on? The mere thought made him sick. He was about to respond when Brigitte’s voice cut into his thoughts. “I… heard rumors.”

“Rumors about what?” Bobby asked. “About us?”

Brigitte nodded.

Bobby suddenly felt the need to know exactly what was said and by whom, so he could personally punch the mouth that had spoken ill of Brigitte. “What did they say? Who is talking?”

Brigitte shook her head. “‘Who’ is not important. But they said… that you have a girl back in New York. That you were just using me… for sex.” How could people say this? Why in the world did Brigitte lend it any credence? He was trying to get his emotions under control when Brigitte spoke again. “I didn’t really believe it at first, but it got me thinking, and then I started seeing things differently, and I got worried, and--”

Bobby slid down and took the curled up Brigitte into his arms, holding her tight. “None of that is true! There is no one else! Just you. And…” he paused. _Well, I guess it’s as good of a time as any_. “And I love you.”

Brigitte was silent for a long moment. He loved her? This was just insane. She broke out of his embrace and made an effort to roll over and face him. “Are you serious?” she responded, with more venom in her voice than she had really intended.

She watched as Bobby’s expression went from loving, to hurt, to defensive. “Yes, I love you. Why is that hard for you to believe? You will think the worst of me but not this?”

“I just…” Brigitte started, also defensive. But then she took a breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. She sat up as well as she could, finding it easier to say these things when he wasn’t so close to her. “Look, Bobby, this isn’t the way the story goes. This isn’t… Cinderella. I mean, it was hard enough with you just living in America to imagine this could go anywhere, and now this? Now not only will you leave in a month, but you’re also rich? Your family will never allow us to be anything more than this.”

“ _Fuck, Brigitte, I get enough of this shit from my father without having to hear it from you too!”_ Bobby exclaimed, also sitting up in the bed. Brigitte was still not looking at him, but she could hear him take a deep breath. Evidently she wasn’t the only one having issues remaining levelheaded at the moment. “Did you understand?” he asked in French, his voice more even.

“Yes,” she replied, shortly. “So your father already doesn’t approve?” Something clicked in her head. “Is that why you didn’t want me to have dinner with him?”

“Yes, that is why. I did not want… he would have been rude to you. I did not want to put you through that. But what he thinks… it does not matter to me.” She turned to look at him, and he continued, “Brigitte, listen to me. I only want you. Sure, right now I am hurt you would believe such things about me… but I still love you. I want to make this work. I do not want to lose you.”

Brigitte slowly reached out, caressing his face tenderly. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

A grin slowly spread across Bobby’s face, and he grabbed her hand, laying a kiss on her inner wrist. Brigitte felt that old familiar feeling rise in her, that warmth that happened whenever she made Bobby happy.

“Bobby, I am really sorry for… all of it.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured against her wrist. “I… I am sorry too, Brigitte. So sorry.” He looked up at her and gingerly stroked the hair near her forehead. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know… and, just so you know…” she took a breath, and then the plunge, “I love you too.”

* * *

 Bobby and Brigitte talked for hours, arms and legs entwined, whispering about their futures. Bobby held her close and promised to return to her in the summers. Brigitte curled against Bobby’s chest and promised to write to him every week. As the summer light faded, they continued to share soft words and kisses, promising each other that it would all work out. After all, if they really loved each other, nothing could stand in their way.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“One, two, three, up!”

Bobby pulled on her hands, hauling Brigitte up from the couch.

“I can get up on my own,” she groused, hating that getting up and walking was easier with his support. _I can’t wait until Papa gets back with my crutches._ The accident had happened the day before yesterday and although her head was feeling better, her ankle actually felt worse. She’d spent all day laid up on the couch, using her mother or father as a crutch when she needed to get up, since jumping or putting weight on the foot were still out of the question. Her father had gone out after he closed the shop to get her a crutch or a cane… something so that she would be free again.

At just after five in the evening, Bobby had arrived, still in his work clothes and eager to help. His words broke into her thoughts: “It is faster if I help you. Your mama said it is dinner time and I am hungry!”

Maria called out from the kitchen. “I said it’s _almost_ dinner time. Clean your ears.”

Brigitte laughed. “Yeah, Bobby. Maybe I should get you a cotton swab.”

“Ha, ha,” Bobby mocked. “You group against me! I cannot wait for Monsieur Bernard to come home. Maybe _he_ will defend me. Since we are both men.”

“Monsieur Bernard values his life. He will not side against me,” Maria joked in return.

Brigitte laughed as Bobby helped her into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. “Can I set the table for you?” Bobby asked Maria.

“Yes, here, let me show you where everything is.” After being set up properly, Bobby started to place the dishes. Although he had been around formal dining his whole life, he realized that he’d never actually set a table for dinner himself. Typically it was already done for him… or it was so casual as to not matter. He desperately searched in his head, trying to remember what the table had looked like the other night when Brigitte had done it.

“What’s wrong?” Brigitte asked.

Chagrinned, Bobby considered coming up with an excuse. _Well, might as well show her that having too much money can actually leave you deficient._ “I have never done this. Is there a special way?”

Brigitte laughed. “Here, bring them over to me. It is nothing special.” She set her place, and Bobby realized that it was probably how he would have done it, if he had guessed.

He studied it again, to make sure he got it right. “So, the knife is turned out rather than in?”

Brigitte looked down at the knife. “I don’t know. I just put it however it lands.”

Bobby nodded. “I see. This is less complicated than when my parents have dinner. There are sometimes twenty different… um… things on the table.” He saw Brigitte give him a look, so he clarified. “I like this better. I can understand it.” He finished setting the other places and looked to Brigitte. “Do you want a drink?”

“Just put a bottle of water and a bottle of wine on the table. Those there,” she said pointing.

Bobby did as he was told, but when he set the wine down, he said, “Remember, the doctor said not to have, um, alcohol with the medicine.”

“You’re like a mother,” Brigitte moaned, pouring herself a glass of water.

Setting the salad down on the table, Maria commented, “You are like his baby duck.”

Bobby then said in English, “ _That explains why you quack me up._ ”

While Bobby was laughing at his own joke, Maria and Brigitte exchanged confused looks. “I didn’t understand that one either,” Brigitte confessed.

Bobby sighed. “You must come visit me in the States. Then your English will improve and I can make…” he sighed. “I do not know the word. It is when you say a word that sounds like another for a joke?”

Brigitte and Maria looked at each other again. “I don’t know what you are talking about. My dictionary is in my room if you want to look it up.”

“Okay, where is it?”

Brigitte bit her lip. “I’m not exactly sure. Help me in there and I will look.”

Getting her up from the chair again, Bobby and Brigitte hobbled off to her room. As they entered, Bobby looked around. It was the first time he had been in her room and his first thought was that it was pretty messy. For how organized Brigitte was in every other aspect of her life, Bobby had expected her room to be equally ordered. But the room was full of stacks and stacks of books and other things. There were several pieces of stray clothing strewn about the room, on the back of a chair or on the bed. Setting Brigitte down, some weird impulse caused Bobby to start randomly folding the errant clothes.

While he folded, Brigitte slithered down to the floor, near a stack of books. She seemed to be scanning them until she found the one she was looking for. “Ah! Here it is.” She gently pulled out the book in question and handed it to Bobby before using the bed to pull herself back up. He sat on the bed next to her to look up the word.

A moment later, he read aloud, “A pun, wordplay.”

“Oh, okay. That takes pretty advanced language skills.”

Bobby leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Then you will have to come see me often.”

Brigitte smiled. “Maybe I will.” Brigitte kissed him in return. This time the kiss lasted longer and Bobby found himself desperately wanting to lay her down on the bed and continue down this path.

However, at that moment the front door slammed shut, causing Bobby to jump. “Brigitte! I have your crutch!” Philippe’s voice rang through the house.

“Oh, thank God. Here, help me up.” Bobby stood and pulled her up, assisting her back out into the living room.

Philippe was handing the mail to Maria when the two reentered the room. “So, what was the word?” Maria asked, only half paying attention as she went through the mail.

“Pun,” Brigitte responded, reaching out for the crutches her father held in his hands.

“Ah,” Maria responded.

“Hello Bobby,” Philippe said, passing Brigitte the crutches. “Are you ready to no longer be her crutch?”

“I do not mind,” Bobby replied.

“Well, I’ll be glad to no longer be using a person as a crutch!” Brigitte retorted, fitting the crutches onto her forearms.

“Oh, Bobby,” Philippe began. “I got most of the car repaired, but I have to wait on some parts. I hope it will be done by Wednesday, Friday at the latest. But you really did a number on that front axle.”

Bobby merely nodded as Philippe moved away to the table to pour himself a glass of wine.

Bobby thought back to when he had brought Brigitte, hobbling and with stiches in her head, home on Saturday. Her mother had immediately jumped up and ushered Brigitte, who was looking quite woozy, to bed, leaving Bobby alone with her father. Bobby explained what had happened… and Philippe had merely nodded while Bobby spoke.

After Bobby had done all the explaining he could think to do, Brigitte’s father finally spoke. “I think you should go home now. Come back tomorrow and we can talk.”

Bobby turned and left, not even daring to ask to say goodnight to Brigitte. Philippe's tone had made it quite clear that Bobby was dismissed.

The next day, Bobby returned to Brigitte’s. The car had been towed to the Bernard’s garage earlier that morning, and Bobby found Philippe inspecting the damaged vehicle.

 Bobby had stood there, unsure of what to do or say. Thankfully, Brigitte’s father finally spoke. “I can’t help but feel a bit let down, Bobby,” he said, his focus still on the car. “That isn’t to say I don’t like you, or think you aren't a good person. But you hurt my daughter. I know accidents happen…” he trailed off. After a moment, he turned to face Bobby. “The thing is, I let her ride around in your car. I let her go out alone with you, unchaperoned….” Another pause. Bobby wasn’t sure what to say. ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘It was an accident?’

Philippe resumed speaking. “And you’ve made me question if I made the right choice. I don’t know what distracted you or why you drove off the road, but you could have killed her. I don’t say this to be mean, I say this so you understand. When she’s with you, her life is in your hands.” He approached Bobby and clasped his shoulder, hard. “Do you understand me? Can I trust you with my daughter’s life?”

Bobby was unsure how to react. This was so different than his own father’s lectures. He took a deep breath. “Monsieur… I can only apologize. And try to never let you, or her, down again. I promise to be more careful.”

Brigitte’s dad suddenly slapped Bobby on the back. “Good, then it is settled. Now go inside the house, Brigitte has been asking when you would be here.”

Bobby had walked away, unsure of what had just transpired. But the matter did seem settled. After ‘the talk’ both her parents seemed comfortable around him, accepting his offers of help in the daily chores.

And now he was standing in their living room, watching Brigitte tool around on her crutches, smiling at her newfound freedom. Bobby turned, and noticed that Maria was opening one of the letters that had come in the mail. He was about to ask if he could be any more help with dinner when she muttered, “ _Dios mío_ …”

“What is it?” Philippe asked.

“A letter from Lucía.”

Another moment of silence passed. “Well, open it!” Brigitte finally burst out.

Slowly, Maria opened it and began to read it out loud in Spanish. Bobby sat quietly, trying to figure out from the reactions of the other three in the room what the situation was. Finally, Maria set down the letter and walked to the back of the house, slamming her bedroom door. Philippe was gone in a flash, following after his wife.

Bobby turned to Brigitte, who looked pale. “What happened? Who is Lucía?”

Brigitte hobbled over to the couch and plopped down. Bobby followed, sitting next to her. “She’s my aunt, my mother’s sister. And what happened…” She took a deep breath. “In the coup, last week, there were bombings of the government buildings. The Nationalists took the city and started executing anyone they think is a Republican sympathizer. She says she thinks maybe five hundred to one thousand people have been killed just in Córdoba alone.”

“Is your family okay?”

Brigitte turned to look at him. “My grandparents and aunts and uncles are fine. But my Aunt says that several of my mama’s cousins have died already and she is fearful that there are more executions coming. And if the Republicans try to retake Córdoba… you see…” Brigitte paused. “Do you know the geography of Spain?”

“Um, generally?”

Brigitte held out her left fist, so that the back of her hand faced them. “This is the Iberian Peninsula.” Drawing a curved line in lower left, she said, “This is Portugal.”

“Sure.” He knew that much.

Pointing directly in the middle, she said, “This is Madrid. And Barcelona is here,” she pointed hear her thumb. “In the south,” she circled the area near her wrist, “is Andalucía. That is where my family lives. Córdoba is about here.” She pointed a bit up from her wrist. “The Nationalists right now hold most of the west, Galicia, Castile y León, and parts of Extremadura and Andalucía.” She drew a shape that encompassed most of the northwest of Spain and then narrowed to avoid Madrid, but then widened a bit to capture more of the south. “The problem is, Córdoba is on this front. So my aunt is afraid of more fighting on top of the executions. And she says she is also afraid of reprisal executions if the Republicans do retake the city.”

“That is…” Bobby had no words. “It is horrible. I am sorry.”

Brigitte shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do. I mostly feel bad for my mama. I mean, I’ve only been to Spain twice. I hardly know these people. Of course I feel terrible about anyone, even strangers, having to go through this…” she trailed off.

“I understand.”

“But… I couldn’t even imagine my mama and papa being in danger like that. And to be far away from them when it happened? I couldn’t bear it.”

Bobby wrapped his arm around her. “Do not worry about such terrible things happening.”

Brigitte leaned her head on his shoulder. “Do you ever worry about Germany?”

Bobby paused. They really weren’t that far from the German border and this portion of France had been a war zone during the Great War. If Germany were to ever invade again… “Yes and no? I mean, in America I do not worry. But if I lived here, maybe I would.”

“I worry sometimes. They’ve started rearming, and just earlier this year they moved their military back into the Rhineland. That’s just across the border!” Brigitte paused. “I worry… I worry because sometimes my parents talk about the Great War. My papa lost a lot of family in that war, and sometimes I think--” Brigitte voice caught, and she ceased speaking.

“Brigitte, nothing bad is going to happen to you or your parents or your family.” He ran his hand through her hair, trying to comfort her.

“How do you know that?” Brigitte questioned.

“I mean, I do not know that… But you cannot worry over things like that. You will make a hole in your stomach.”

Suddenly Bobby smelled something burning. Jumping up, he went to the kitchen, Brigitte hobbling after him. Smoke was rising out of the oven, and Bobby pulled out the now overcooked roast. Brigitte was fumbling to open up the windows to air out the house as Bobby set the roast on the counter.

“Well, I don’t think we are going to eat that anymore…” Brigitte said, looking at the hunk of meat.

“Maybe we should go and get… um… get food? For us and your parents?” Bobby asked.

Brigitte smiled. “Yes, let’s go around the corner. And now that I have crutches, your hands are free to carry back all the food.”

* * *

Wednesday was not going well.

Bobby knew his father would be back on the first train from Paris that morning and Robert would go directly to the office, where he would inevitably be greeted with the news that Bobby had wrecked the car and injured Brigitte.

So he was hardly surprised when he found himself being called to his father’s office just before lunch.

“You totaled the car? I was gone for three days. Three days, Bobby! And you managed to total the car and create a bunch of medical bills?”

Bobby felt his defensiveness rise up inside him, but he tried to push it down. “Well, it’s not totaled. Only the front end was damaged. Monsieur Bernard--”

Robert cut Bobby off. “Monsieur Bernard?”

“Yeah… the mechanic. Brigitte’s father.”

Robert threw his hands up in the air. “Her father?! What, it’s not enough that I pay for the doctor? Now he’ll probably gouge me to fix the car.”

Bobby couldn’t take it. “He said that he would just charge for the parts, no labor. He’s actually giving you a deal.”

“No, I’ll pay for it all. I don’t want him thinking I owe him a damn thing.”

Bobby let out a wry laugh. “So this is how you treat people who try to do something nice for you?”

Robert sneered. “These kind of people only want one thing: money. I bet they’re socialists, trying to redistribute my wealth to themselves.”

“Dad! They could not care less about our money!”

“Everyone cares about money, Bobby.” Robert paused, shaking his head. “I know I warned you before, but Bobby, you need to be careful. If you get a woman like that pregnant you’ll never get rid of her.”

“I don’t want to get rid of her! I…” he paused, knowing the last part was going to sound lame, no matter how he put it. But it needed to be said. His father had to understand. “Dad, I love her.”

“Oh, Bobby, _for God’s sake_ , you barely know the woman!” Bobby’s hands clenched at his father’s words, dripping with derision. “We have work to do Bobby, and I’m sick and tired of having your focus be elsewhere.” He riffled through the papers on his desk, eyes landing on another bill. “Bobby! What the hell is this? _Earrings_?”

Bobby tried to stand tall, as his father continued to yell. “This is what I’m talking about, Bobby. You can’t spend this kind of money on some mechanic’s daughter, no matter how pretty you think she is.” Bobby started to open his mouth, but his father continued, having worked himself into another lecture. “I turned a blind eye on the little stuff. The swimsuit, books, cafes. But you can’t go buying expensive gifts for every girl that catches your eye. When you are in charge one day, _God help us_ , you get to make the decisions about how to spend your money. If you want to spend it seducing women, I won’t be able to stop you anymore. But listen to me now, Bobby. That’s not how I made my money. That sort of wasteful spending will never get you ahead.”

Robert fell silent and Bobby didn’t respond. He knew there was nothing that would satisfy his father now. Better to just listen and move on.

Finally Robert sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So what’s the damage to the car?”

“The axle was broken. It’s at the garage, just waiting for the part. It should be fixed by Friday, at the latest.”

“I should have known giving you that car would be more trouble than it was worth.” Robert shook his head and waved his hand at his son. “You can go now, Bobby. I just don’t want to have to have this conversation with you again.”

Bobby didn’t move immediately. “Brigitte’s okay, by the way.”

Robert looked up at his son, confused. “What?”

“You didn’t ask how she was doing. She got a concussion and a sprained ankle in the accident. But she’ll be okay.” And with that, he left his father’s office.

* * *

Brigitte was sprawled on the bed, her foot perched on a stack of pillows. Today, almost a week since the accident, she had been trying to help her father in the garage. He had finally gotten in the parts to finish up the work on Bobby’s car, and Brigitte had wanted to help. She was especially interested in what the drive train looked like torn apart.

But now, she was paying for it. Her ankle was swollen and the throbbing refused to abate, despite the pain pills. So she was now lying on her bed, trying to read the English version of _From the Earth to the Moon._

“Are you feeling better?” Bobby’s voice called in French, breaking her English train of thought as she read.

“Eh,” she replied, setting the book down. Bobby was dressed in coveralls, having spent the last hour helping her father put the car back together. She wasn’t totally sure how much help Bobby actually was, but he was at least a second pair of hands to help with lifting and the like. “Is the car done?” she asked.

“Yes. And your mama says dinner is in one hour.”

As Bobby started through the door, he reached for the handle to shut it when Brigitte stopped him. “We have to keep it open, remember?”

Bobby froze. “Oh, right.” Then he switched to English. “ _Because that’s really going to stop us from fooling around if we want to._ ”

Brigitte laughed. “ _Well, at least we do not do it…_ ” Brigitte paused, searching for the right words. With a sigh, she switched to French. “… under her nose. Come, sit with me.”

Bobby stripped off his coveralls and was soon sitting on the edge of the bed. Brigitte scooted over to make room for him and, after readjusting her foot pillows, Bobby kicked his legs up onto the bed and wrapped his arm around her.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She settled against his chest and felt a wave of contentment wash over her. “Do you have any idea how dull it is to lay in bed all day? I’m so bored.”

“Maybe I can tell you a story? So you are not bored?”

She looked up at him. “A story about what?”

Bobby shrugged. “I do not know. What do you want?”

Brigitte thought about it a moment. “Well, as long as it is not about a girl who hurt her foot and is stuck in bed, it will be more interesting than my life.”

Bobby hugged her tight, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I have an idea. Can I say it in English?”

“ _Sure,_ ” Brigitte replied in Bobby’s native tongue.

“ _Okay,_ ” Bobby began. ” _Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess. Now, this princess loved being outside. Running, jumping, climbing trees; these where the things she enjoyed the most. However, one day, she jumped down from a tree that was too high, and sprained her ankle._ ”

Brigitte interrupted, “ _You tell me a story about this? A girl with a hurt foot?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bobby replied, slightly sheepish. “ _Look, once you said it, I couldn’t get it out of my head. But you’ll like it._ ”

Brigitte huffed a bit, but allowed him to continue.

“ _So the princess was forced to rest in bed for weeks on end. She was so bored that she would have done anything to just get up and move around. That is when a fairy appeared. The fairy said to her, “I have heard your wishes. You said you were willing to give anything to move around again. I collect toenails. If you allow me to pull out all your toenails, I will give you wings so you can fly around--”_

Brigitte gasped. “ _Toenails? These?”_ she said pointing at her feet.

“ _Yes, those._ ” Bobby replied.

“ _But… that is… painful._ ” Brigitte grimaced.

“ _Well, yes. And will you let me finish?_ ” Bobby said, poking her lightly in the ribs. “ _You’re like a five year old._ ”

“ _Fine, do this thing to the poor princess._ ”

“ _She’s my character, I can torture her if I like. Anyway, the princess thinks, ‘Well, toenails grow back. This will get me up and moving quicker.’ So she agrees to the fairy’s terms. The fairy draws up a contract and the princess signs it._

_"The fairy proceeds to slowly remove all ten toenails, slowly, causing the princess to scream and cry in agony. Finally, the job is done and the princess gets her wings. However she is in so much pain that it was at least a day before she can even enjoy them._

_"She goes flying around the castle, but no one knows what to make of a princess with wings. So while she can fly, all of her old friends are a bit afraid of her._

_"Finally, after a couple weeks, her ankle has recovered and her friends have gotten used to the change. But the princess is ready to get rid of her wings. So she is pleased when she sees the fairy reappear. ‘Oh, you’re here to take back the wings,’ she says._

_"‘No, I’m here for your toenails,’ the fairy responds._

_“’What? I already gave them to you!’ the princess shouts._

_"’Did you not read the contract? I get your toenails for as long as you live.”_

_“And the moral of the story? Just be patient and always read the fine print.”_

There was a moment of silence before Bobby turned to Brigitte and asked in French, “What did you think?”

“You just made it up?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Brigitte let out a short laugh. “So you just made up a fairy tale where a princess gets her toenails pulled out… I didn’t realize your last name was Grimm.“

Bobby crossed his arms, slightly defensive. “Well, did you like it or not?”

“You have a very vivid imagination. That’s for sure.”

“That’s not an answer,” Bobby chided.

“Well, it had a bit too much talk of toenail removal for my taste.”

“Oh, so would you prefer a story about a witch who builds a house of candy and then tries to eat small children?” Bobby asked.

Brigitte made a face. “Of course not! I prefer stories about frogs who are actually princes.” Suddenly she grabbed his face, kissing him hard. Pulling back, she looked at him with mock disappointment. “Oh, just my luck, still a frog.”

Bobby let out a laugh. “You are lucky your foot is hurt. Or I would…” he trailed off before sighing. “I do not know how it is called. Like this.” He reached out and lightly drew his finger across the bottom of her uninjured foot.

Brigitte immediately retracted her foot. “‘Tickle’ is the word you are looking for,” she said, lightly whacking him.

Bobby smiled. “Anyway, I would tickle you if you were not hurt. For calling me a frog. But since I am a gentleman, I will not.”

“Oh, maybe my kiss _did_ turn you into a prince! You’re so kind!” Brigitte pretended to swoon.

Bobby laughed again. “Maybe. Okay, I will tell another. Something you will like. About a boy who meets a girl--”

“She best not be a girl-frog named Brigitte,” Brigitte interjected.

“Oh, thanks. Now that is all I can think of.”

* * *

“Okay, Bobby, the dinner is in the icebox. Just put it in the oven and turn it on like this, about an hour before you want to eat,” Maria instructed. “We will be back around eleven or midnight.”

Bobby nodded. “I actually have to be home by ten, so I will say goodbye now.”

Maria was grabbing her bag and a jacket as she spoke. “Okay. And don’t let her be up too much. She has been walking around on that foot all day.”

“First, I can hear you. Second, it feels better and I could do all of this myself,” Brigitte called from the couch, where her foot was yet again propped up.

Maria shot Brigitte a look. “Your ankle is twice the size of normal. Keep it elevated!”

Bobby chose not to get involved, and hung back as Maria and Philippe shuffled out the door. Closing it behind them, Bobby turned to Brigitte. “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to get off this lumpy couch,” Brigitte said as she reached for her crutches.

“Um, your mother just said to not get up.” Bobby watched as, undeterred, Brigitte swung her legs to the floor.

“I would just rather lay on the bed. We can talk or listen to the radio from there.”

“Okay…” Bobby trailed off as he watched her hobble off to her room. Walking over to the radio in the living room, he switched it on and dialed through the channels. Finally finding a drama and turning it up loud enough that they could hear it in her room, he followed Brigitte.

She had situated herself on her bed and gestured for him to join her. Bobby swallowed, somewhat nervous. He had spent a lot of time with Brigitte in bed that week… but there had always been other people around to stop any ‘funny business’. And the last time he had gotten handsy with Brigitte, it had upset her… although he was pretty sure that had all been cleared up.

As he settled on the bed next to her, his eyes were drawn to her ankle. It really was quite swollen again. And while the stitches had been removed the other day, the gash on her head was still evident and bruised. _There is no way she wants anything physical, right?_ He wrapped his arm around her and, like always, she snuggled against him. _Well, this is pretty nice too_ , he thought as he turned his attention back to the radio.

 

Brigitte was growing restless. She’d spent a significant portion of the last week curled up in bed next to Bobby, with little more than affectionate kisses. Granted, for most of the week, she wanted nothing more than that… but this evening was different. She was feeling good, her parents weren’t home, and they were in bed.

She had tried subtle hints, but he didn’t seem to be catching her drift. _Well, to hell with this_ , she thought. Turning his face towards her, she pressed her lips on his, hard. He got the idea and returned the kiss in kind, running his hands through her hair and pulling her close.

Careful of her ankle, she rotated to straddle him, but he grabbed her hips, stopping her. “Brigitte, what are you doing? Your ankle—“

“You worry too much,” she responded, finishing her maneuver and kissing him again.        

Bobby was a little shocked by this turn of events. Brigitte was on top of him, moving against him and kissing him rather passionately. His mind told him to take it slow, but his hands were quickly under her shirt, running up and down her back. He noted that her hands had left his shoulders and were now fumbling around his chest.

She was unbuttoning his shirt. Bobby grabbed her hand. “Brigitte, maybe we should talk first.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “About what?”

“About… about how far you want to go. I do not want to… offend you again.”

Brigitte paused and sat back. How far _did_ she want to take this? “No sex,” she said decisively.

“Okay, this is fine with me.” He looked down at his half undone shirt. “Is it okay if I take off your clothes?”

Brigitte leaned forward and laid kisses down along his neck. “Yes,” she replied.

As Bobby began to remove her shirt, he asked, “How many?”

It only took her a moment to decide. In a husky voice, she whispered in his ear, “All of them.”

Bobby didn’t have to be told twice.

* * *

Bobby couldn’t take his eyes off Brigitte.

The day was absolutely perfect. A light breeze blew and the sun glinted off the calm waters of the nearby river. It seemed like nearly the whole town was in the park that lined the river, celebrating the Assumption of Mary.

He watched as Brigitte sat on a blanket in the grass with a younger cousin, who couldn’t have been more than seven years old. They were playing a clapping game that seemed intricate to Bobby. With each round, Brigitte would complicate the pattern, until one of the two messed it up. Then they would laugh and start again.

“Bobby, do you want to play?”

At the sound of the voice, he finally looked away from Brigitte. Jean was standing there, soccer ball in hand. Bobby was about to accept when Brigitte called out from the blanket. “If you play, don’t play on Jean’s team. He’s terrible.”

“I am _not_ , Brigitte,” Jean said, good-heartedly taking the bait.

“Then how did I score on you four times the last time there was a game?” Brigitte asked, turning her attention away from the clapping game.

“If I’d had decent defenders, it would have been a different story.”

“Hey, I was one of those defenders!” Simone called out, hands on her hips. “And it’s not my fault that Brigitte plays dirty. She tripped me to get the ball!”

“It’s not tripping if you’re going for the ball…” Brigitte reminded.

Simone let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, I didn’t realize the ball was halfway up my shin!”

“Well, you’re just both lucky I still can’t run on this ankle.”

Bobby laughed as he watched the cousins banter. In only two weeks, he would be getting on a train, leaving Sainte Claire, and Brigitte, until next summer. As much as he tried to push that out of his head, he could never fully escape the sense of impending doom it gave him.

Returning to the States… it all seemed so bleak and dreary compared to France. _If only I could make the summer last forever_ , he thought as Brigitte deftly caught the soccer ball that Jean launched at her, after she yet again questioned his skills.

The three weeks that had passed since the car accident flashed in Bobby’s mind. He’d spent nearly all his time, while he wasn’t at work, with Brigitte. At first it was mostly at her house, typically on her bed listening to the radio, reading, dozing, or just talking for hours on end. As her ankle healed and she became more mobile, they started going out more, to the park or a café, or out to the countryside to lie under the stars, exploring each other’s bodies in the privacy of the darkness. Learning what Brigitte liked, what excited her, how she wanted to be touched. It sent a thrill through him like nothing he had ever experienced.

Memories of Brigitte’s naked flesh under his fingers slowly gave way, however, to bigger thoughts. Thoughts about his life. His future. He realized that _this_ was what he wanted. He wanted to live in a small house in France, eat good food and have fun with friends and family. His large, sterile house back home seemed so much more unwelcoming than it ever had before. And the thought of working in that damn mill, and others just like it, just so he could have a giant, sterile house of his own one day… it just seemed oppressive.

Bobby was brought back to the moment as an older man stopped by and began speaking to Brigitte. “Your father is so proud of your high honors on the bac that he is practically telling strangers on the street!”

Brigitte gave the man an embarrassed smile. “I know, it’s a bit embarrassing. I mean, maybe if I had scored highest honors…”

The older man shook his head. “No, it’s still something to be proud of! So congratulations, Brigitte! And your father says you still have your heart set on École Polytechnique Féminine?” When Brigitte nodded, the man continued, “When do you leave?”

“Well, classes begin on the seventh of September, but we haven’t made all the plans yet. But sometime after the first.” There was a moment of awkward silence as both parties tried to think of the next thing to say.

The man broke the silence. “Your father also says there is a man in your life…”

“Oh, yes.” Brigitte gestured in Bobby’s direction. “Uncle René, this is Bobby. Uncle René is just here for the weekend to visit. He lives up near Calais.”

Bobby immediately rose, extending his hand. “I see. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Bobby, eh? Short for Robert?” The man said his name in the French style, which Bobby was unused to. He had never gone by Robert, so it felt unfamiliar when someone used his full name. But said in the French way… he could almost get used to that.

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet the man who has finally stolen our Brigitte’s heart!” René leaned in, conspiratorially. “I for one wondered if she would _ever_ get married. Always so busy tinkering with this and that… I’m glad she is finally settling down a bit.”

 _Married?!_ Bobby was really unsure how to respond to that, but fortunately Brigitte saved him. “Bobby and I have to go meet up with some friends. We will see you later this weekend?”

“Yes, I think your Aunt Juliette is planning to have everyone over for dinner tomorrow. You two will be there?”

Brigitte nodded. “Yes, I think so. But we really have to get going.” After the two exchanged quick hugs and kisses, Brigitte grasped Bobby’s hand.

They quickly walked along the river, dodging crowds of merrymakers. In the midst of the revelry, however, Bobby was focused. Fourteen days. That’s all he had left. He turned and looked at the woman next to him. She turned her head slowly and smiled, making his heart skip a beat. He still marveled at the way his body and mind reacted to her, and how despite spending almost every free moment with her over the last three weeks, he still wanted more.

Squeezing her hand, he followed her deeper into the crowd.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The trees along the road passed by with an ever-increasing frequency as Bobby pushed down harder on the gas. _That bastard,_ he thought, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.

The other night, Madame Bernard had asked Bobby to invite his father for Sunday dinner. “We should meet your family while they are here,” Maria had said over dinner. While Philippe had agreed emphatically, Bobby and Brigitte shared a look. Brigitte had not spent any substantial time with his father and given his father’s opinion of Brigitte and her family, Bobby preferred to keep it that way.

But how could he refuse their invitation?

Forcing a smile, Bobby nodded, silently contemplating how disastrous dinner at the Bernard’s would be.

However, he would never find out. He extended the invitation to his father, who had responded with a dismissive, “We’ll see.”

Those words hung as his only response until, on Saturday morning, Bobby finally pressed the issue. 

“I don’t think so, Bobby,” he responded while shuffling through papers on his desk. “I have other things to do on Sunday night.”

Bobby knew what his father meant was, ‘I have _better_ things to do,’ but the last thing he wanted to do was have the same argument with his father. So without another word, Bobby walked out the study, then the house, and got into his car. Brigitte’s house was a much nicer place to spend a Saturday than his.

The countryside evaporated into Sainte Claire and soon Bobby was in front of the mechanics shop. He momentarily thought back to the day, almost three months before, when he first pulled up with his flat tire. The time had flown by, and now, in just eight days, he would be on a train. Headed away from Brigitte.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to push away the negative thoughts. He would just give his apologies to Brigitte’s parents and then enjoy what was left of his time with Brigitte.

He gave the door a cursory knock before opening it. He had expected the normal morning chaos… breakfast laid out on the table, Maria with the paper, Philippe fiddling with something, Brigitte running around trying to get ready before he showed up, but never completely succeeding.

But this morning, it was just Brigitte, alone, still in her nightclothes. She rose to meet him when he walked in, silently grabbing his hand and leading him to her bedroom. Still wordless, she led him over to her unmade bed, pulling him down with her before reclining with him.

Bobby was completely lost, but the somber mood moved him not to speak. Brigitte wrapped herself securely around him. They laid like that in silence for several long moments and Bobby realized he could hear soft voices emanating from her parents’ bedroom. Her lips were next to his ear when she finally spoke. “We got a telegram this morning. It was from my Tía Lucía. The Republicans are trying to retake Córdoba. There is heavy fighting and bombing and… and my grandparents’ house was hit.” Her voice caught and she did not need to explain the obvious: that her grandparents were dead.

Bobby held her tighter, lightly kissing her forehead. “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

Brigitte, having slightly composed herself, continued, “My tía and her family were able to get out of the city… which is how they were able to send word, but they don’t have any information about any of my mother’s other siblings, not to mention her extended family.” Suddenly, Brigitte let out a frustrated growl and sat up, slamming her fists down on the bed. “Why would anyone do this?!”

Sitting up as well, Bobby took her again in his arms. “I do not know,” he mumbled against her head.

Brigitte pulled back, her eyes slightly red rimmed. “If anyone ever did that to my parents, I would make them pay. I would make _someone_ pay, I swear I would.”

From the look in her eyes, Bobby had no doubt she meant it.

* * *

They weren’t coming back.

Robert announced the news at their usual Monday morning meeting. With the escalating war in Spain, the socialist party win in the French elections in June, and Germany moving into the demilitarized Rhineland earlier that year, it just didn’t seem like the right time to be acquiring a steel mill in the northeast of France.

Bobby’s father had seemed so calm when he had listed all the reasons that the deal was falling through. But from the first words, Bobby struggled to believe it. Here, he had thought it would just be ten months until he would see Brigitte again.

But now… it could be forever.

All day he thought about it. There had to be a way to ensure that their relationship would continue… that he would see her again. He just could not accept that all he had left was only six days. There _had_ to be a way…

The more and more his thoughts circled, the more only one idea seemed to make sense.

The moment the clock struck five, Bobby fled the mill. He had to get to Brigitte. Speeding down the road towards town, he tried to be calm. Only one thing really mattered: what would Brigitte say?

Parking in front of the garage, Bobby took a deep breath. _Just be calm_. He opened the door and headed into the house. He quickly found Brigitte in the bedroom. The door was open and he leaned against the frame, watching her wipe her face off with a towel to remove the dirt and grease from her labors that day. He smiled at the sight.

“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked as she began to apply a bit of makeup.

He came up behind her, grasping her tight. “I want to spend time with you. Alone.”

She smiled at that. “Our usual place then?” He nodded. Talking one last look in the mirror, Brigitte exited the bedroom. Grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses she called out to her mother, “Bobby and I are going out. I’ll be back by ten.”

 

In an attempt to have some privacy, their ‘usual place’ had become the courtyard of the castle. It was sheltered both from the wind and from prying eyes. They had even found a place to put the car so it could not be seen from the road.

The summer evening was warm and as soon as they had gotten the blankets laid out on the soft grass, Bobby had felt the overwhelming need to be as close to Brigitte as possible. He’d removed his clothes, and then hers, needing to feel her skin against his.

Soft kisses had turned more passionate and Bobby became reassured that he was doing the right thing. _She wants this too,_ he thought, his hands tracing the curves of her body. The thought calmed him, and he pushed it out of his head for the moment, focusing on Brigitte.

Their kisses soon became frenzied and Brigitte climbed on top of him, moving herself against his body. She lowered her head and began nipping at his neck, alternating light bites with kisses.

He could tell from Brigitte’s breathing and the increased pace of her rocking that she was close. He felt it building in himself as well and he longed to slip into her. His fingers had already made that journey, and the combination of Brigitte’s warm flesh rubbing against him and imagining what it would be like to finally be inside of her nearly sent him over the edge.

Sitting up, she grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts. He knew just what she wanted and happily obliged, fingers teasing taut flesh. She sped her hips, finally letting out several loud gasps before collapsing against him.

He held her close, letting her recover from her orgasm. He ran his fingers lightly along her back, causing her to shiver slightly.

“I love you,” he whispered. He was very aware of how aroused he was, and how he was still pressed against her, but he tried to ignore it for the moment.

“I love you, too.” She kissed him lightly and began to roll off of him when he stopped her, reaching up to take one of her hands in his, caressing her face with the other.

“Brigitte, I want to ask you… I want to ask you something.” Now seemed as good a time as any. He didn’t think he could keep it inside any longer.

She paused her motion to stare at him. “Sure, what?”

Bobby took a deep breath. “Brigitte, will you be my wife?”

 

Her world spun and it felt like all the oxygen had been ripped from the air. The words echoed around in Brigitte’s head. _Will you be my wife?_ Was he serious? Finally, gathering enough breath to speak, she said, “What?!”

“I… My father announced today that we will not return next summer. He will not buy the mill. And… I love you, Brigitte. I love you and I want to spend my life with you.”

Brigitte spoke before he could continue. “So you’re proposing? Now?!”

“Yes, I want to make sure that… we will be together.”

Brigitte took a deep breath, rolling the rest of the way off Bobby. She grabbed a blanket and threw it over the both of them. Being naked and having this conversation just didn’t seem congruent to Brigitte.

She tried to center her thoughts. Bobby had just proposed. Now what? Her first instinct was to say no, that this was insane! The logical part of her brain reminded her that they had only known each other for three months. They were both headed off to university in a matter of weeks. She couldn’t marry him _now_!

Brigitte looked up and began to say all this when she saw the look on Bobby’s face. And suddenly she couldn’t just say ‘no’.

“Bobby…” she trailed off, unable to continue.

“So, no?” The disappointment in his voice broke her heart.

“Not ‘no’… just not ‘yes’.”

It barely made sense to her, so she was unsurprised with Bobby’s response. “I do not understand.”

Taking a deep breath, she tried to voice her thoughts. “Bobby, this just isn’t the right time. I know you’re scared that we will never see each other again, but we can still write and visit each other regardless of whether your father buys this mill.” She paused. Time for the real blow. “I’m just not ready to get married. It has nothing to do with you, I love you and… and I think I can imagine being married to you someday. But, I can’t imagine being married to anyone right now. I’m not ready. I need to go to university.” Looking into his eyes she could see the hurt, but she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, let herself be swayed. “I’m sorry,” she finished.

She watched as Bobby took in the information and waited anxiously for him to speak again. “What if we just got engaged? And got married in four years when we are done with university?”

“Five years,” Brigitte corrected.

“What?”

“Assuming I pass the grande école exams, my program is five years, not four.”

There was another moment of silence. Brigitte reached out and placed her hand lightly on Bobby’s face, her thumb affectionately stroking his jaw. “Look, Bobby--”

He cut her off. “I will move to France when I am done and we can get married then. I will find a job doing something and we will spend your last year together in Paris--”

Brigitte pressed a finger against his lips, silencing him. “Bobby, your father not buying the mill doesn’t have to change anything. Who knows what is going to happen in the next four years? I’m open to discussing all of this, but I don’t want to rush into anything.” She paused. “Look, on the day you graduate from Yale, if you still want to marry me, ask me again then. I promise to give you a yes or no answer.”

“That will be an expensive telephone call,” he joked, lightly kissing the finger that was still on his lips.

She rolled her eyes and withdrew her finger. “I didn’t mean literally. And anyway, I don’t have a telephone.”

Bringing his lips to hers, he kissed her. “I fully intend to ask you in four years. By telegraph or post or however I can get the question to you.”

Brigitte smiled, and lightly stroked his face. “And I intend to say yes, in four years.”

 

Brigitte’s words caused a torrent of emotion within him. _She intends to say yes_! In his mind they were engaged, even if it wasn’t fully official. He kissed her, rolling on top of her, rubbing against her. He couldn’t help but desire more. “Brigitte…” he thought about how to phrase this. “Do you want to… I do not want to… pressure you.” It was clear she understood what he wanted, but when she was silent he reiterated, “I can wait. I just want to know your thoughts.” He could feel her relax slightly as he clarified.

“I want to have sex with you, Bobby, but I can’t afford to get pregnant.”

Bobby nodded. “We could use a… I do not know the word. I put it on and… and then… you do not get pregnant.”

“A condom.” Brigitte provided and Bobby shrugged, as the word was not a cognate. “But where would we get one?”

“I have never bought one before… the pharmacy?” he supposed.

“No, Bobby. I mean, condoms are illegal in France.”

Bobby blinked. “What?!”

“Yes, it is illegal to buy them. I mean, maybe we could get them somehow, but—“

Bobby cut her off in English. “ _This is nuts! Condoms are illegal?! How is everyone not pregnant?!_ ”

He watched as Brigitte looked away from him. “Actually, I asked Simone about that. She… she mentioned some alternatives.”

Bobby was about to ask for details when Brigitte kissed him. “Let me show you,” she said, kissing a trail down Bobby’s stomach. That’s when it hit Bobby what she was about to do.

It only took a few minutes of Brigitte’s mouth on him to cause him to lose control. The warmth, wetness, and heat…. it was like nothing he had ever experienced.

Spent, he watched as Brigitte spat onto the grass and rinsed her mouth with the wine they brought. “Does it taste bad?” he asked.

“Well, it doesn’t exactly taste good…” she admitted. He instantly felt bad. Brigitte must have noticed as she quickly said, “It’s fine, Bobby. I wanted to do that for you. It was fun listening to you moan like that.” She kissed him and whispered into his ear. “Not to mention arousing.”

Rolling her onto her back, he began moving his kisses down her body. “I can help with that.”

Spreading her legs, he landed one final kiss that caused Brigitte to gasp. Bolstered, he continued, wanting to give Brigitte as much pleasure as possible in the little time they had left.

* * *

“You’re late.”

This was not news to Bobby. He paused in front of his father’s study. “Yes, I’m sorry. Things… took longer than I expected.”

Surprisingly, his father just nodded. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m glad you took care of it, finally.”

_What?_ Bobby tried to parse what his father could possibly mean by that. A part of him wanted to just agree and walk upstairs. However, he couldn’t leave it alone. “What do you mean?”

“Breaking up with Bridget. I’m glad you finally took care of it. Now you’ll have more time to help me close up the house.”

Bobby stood there, not really sure what to say. His father was assuming he and Brigitte broke up. Again. What part of ‘Dad, I love her’ was not clear? _I’m just going to have to set him straight._ He walked in to the study and sat down across from his father. _How to begin…_

“Dad, how old were you when you and Mom got married?”

Robert’s head shot up. “Twenty seven. Why?”

“Isn’t that a bit old?” Bobby asked, evading the question.

“Maybe. But I had to establish myself first.”

From his father’s expression, Bobby knew he was suspicious of this line of questioning. But he continued. “And when did you know you were in love with Mom?”

His father took a deep breath. He then sat back in his chair, watching his son. “You didn’t break up with her, did you?”

_Busted_. “No, I did not.”

“So what, are you two getting married now?”

_Wow, that was close to the mark_ , Bobby thought. “No. But we are going to continue dating.”

“Jesus, Bobby, I was joking. Just how do you plan to maintain this relationship from halfway around the world?” Robert’s voice was laced with condescension.

“Dad, we can write and we will see each other next summer.”

His father paused for a moment, before leaning forward and placing his arms on the desk. “And how exactly are you going to do that? I didn’t realize that being a mechanic in a small town meant you earned enough money to travel the world.”

“No, I would pay, either for her to come to New York or for me to come here.”

“And whose money are you planning to use? Because I can tell you now it’s not mine.”

Bobby felt his blood start to boil. “I worked all summer! I have some money stashed away!”

Robert looked like he was about to shout back when he suddenly stopped. “You know what, Bobby? I’m done discussing this. When we get home, you can discuss it with your mother. I’m going to leave this domestic affair in her hands.”

Bobby’s frustration turned to elation. His mother would surely understand. He would tell her about how amazing Brigitte was and how he loved her. He was sure that, in the end, his mother would allow the travel.

Robert’s words brought Bobby back into the moment. “But I really do need your help closing up the house. Bridget can come here and help you pack if you really must spend every moment with her.”

Bobby smiled. “Yes, okay. I’ll start tomorrow.” Bobby rose, and started out the door, but turned before he was completely out. “And dad, it’s Brigitte, not Bridget.”

* * *

“Brigitte! Are your parents home?”

Brigitte set down her wrench and turned. “Um, Papa is out on a service call and I don’t know where Mama is.” Simone looked about ready to burst with whatever she had to say. “Why? What is it?”

“I’m pregnant!”

Brigitte’s eyes went wide. “Are we happy or sad?”

“Happy! Very happy!”

Simone’s smile was contagious, and Brigitte found herself grinning as well. “Well, then congratulations! I’d hug you, but…” she gestured to her grease covered clothes and hands.

“I couldn’t wait to tell you. I’d been feeling off, and then I realized my period never came last month. So, this morning I went to the doctor, and was able to tell Jean the good news at lunch! So you’re the first to know!”

“Well, I’m honored. Are you telling everyone?” Brigitte asked, leaning against the car she had been working on.

“No, not until it’s further along. Because… you know, things can go wrong. So we are just going to tell a couple of people, our parents, you…”

“My parents?” Brigitte asked.

Simone bit her lip. “Probably not. Your father is a bit of a gossip.”

Laughing, Brigitte shook her head. “He really is. Well, your secret is safe with me… but can I tell Bobby?”

Simone nodded. “As long as he keeps it to himself. But I don’t know who he would tell, other than your parents.”

“He can keep a secret.” Brigitte paused. “So, Simone, I have to ask. I thought you told me that you and Jean weren’t trying to have kids just yet.”

Simone looked down, sheepishly. “Remember how I told you that pulling out isn’t reliable? Well, now I’m living proof.”

Suddenly, Brigitte was gladder than ever that she had not slept with Bobby. “Oh. But you’re happy anyway?”

Simone grinned. “I really am! Far happier than I would have expected. I mean, I knew I wanted a baby someday, but I just… wasn’t ready to accept the responsibility. But he… or she, is coming no matter what. And it is a little scary, but I’m really excited for this next part of my life. I mean, I have a great husband, we have a good place to live… If now isn’t the right time, when is?”

“Right… when is…” Brigitte uttered. 

Simone’s brow furrowed. “Brigitte… what’s up? That was a quick change of mood.”

Brigitte heaved a sigh. “Nothing. This is about you, Simone. So… any ideas for a name?”

Simone shot Brigitte a look. “Don’t ‘nothing’ me. Is this about Bobby leaving?”

Knowing Simone wouldn’t be satisfied until she had the details, Brigitte explained. “Bobby proposed Monday night.”

Simone’s eyes went wide. “What?! And you’re just now telling me?!”

“Well, I said no.”

“Still! You’re just now telling me?!” Simone’s hands were on her hips as she glared at Brigitte.

“Since I said no, I thought it wasn’t that big of a deal! I told him to ask me again when we’re done with university. That I would tell him yes or no then. But…” Brigitte paused, staring off into space for a moment. “Just when you said, ‘if not now, when?’ It made me think. Is going to school for five more years really what will make me the happiest?”

There was a moment of silence. “Brigitte, really? You’ve been working for this for most of your life and you’ve only known Bobby for three months. I mean, he’s a great guy, but, you have to go to university. If he wants to quit and come to France and marry you, fine, but you’re going to that damn university. I won’t let you not go!”

Brigitte chuckled. “Well, that was my train of thought when he asked. Except I won’t let him quit university either. But looking at how happy you are— What if something happens? What if I lose this chance?“

Simone stopped her from continuing with a wave of her hand. “Brigitte, you have your whole life ahead of you. Everything will work out the way it’s meant to. If you and Bobby are meant to be together, you will be together.”

Brigitte nodded. “Yeah, if it’s meant to be…”

* * *

Bobby glanced at his watch. 12:10 p.m. He had only seven minutes left with Brigitte.

The night before, he’d had dinner with her and the extended family. He could hardly believe that Madame Bernard had invited all the aunts, uncles, and cousins to his farewell dinner. And he was even more shocked they all had come. As he had sat there, trying to keep up with the rapid French that was flung here and there across the room, he became more and more upset over having to leave this… family. But he tried to keep a happy face on, not wanting to spoil the evening.

He’d walked into his empty house at nearly one in the morning. However, his father had left the day before, needing to be in Paris for meetings before leaving France for good. So for once, Bobby didn’t have to worry about a lecture.

At eleven the next morning, a little bleary eyed, he’d met Brigitte and her parents at the café next to the train station. They’d sipped coffee and tried to keep the conversation light. But he kept looking at Brigitte, who was unnaturally quiet. He noticed how she hung on to his hand, as though it were a lifeline.

Around noon, after saying goodbye to her parents, he and Brigitte made their way to the platform, alone.

Bobby had no words. He just took her in his arms and felt his eyes start to well up. Blinking furiously, he kissed her lightly on the head, running his fingers through her hair. “I love you, Brigitte,” he murmured against her head.

“I love you, too,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

“You will write to me?”                                                                

“Every week. And we will see each other next summer?”

Bobby chose not to relay his father’s thoughts on the subject. “Yes.”

Silent again, they held each other. The train whistle blew, and the conductor shouted, “Five minutes to departure.”

Bobby pulled back from the hug and took Brigitte’s face in his hands. He kissed her. It seemed to last both an eternity and an instant. When they parted, he could see the water in her eyes. He felt the same way. “I promise to ask you again in four years.”

“I can’t wait.”

The conductor’s voice rang out through the station. “All aboard!”

Bobby’s hands involuntarily tightened around her hand even as he said, “I should go.”

After one last kiss he tried to walk away, but he found his hand would not let go of hers. He shared a long look with her, before squeezing her hand and finally freeing her. “I will see you soon.”

“It’s only ten months.”

Bobby nodded. “Only ten months.” Forcing himself to turn away, he climbed up onto the train. He turned back and saw Brigitte, standing alone on the platform. He tried to burn the image of her into his mind.

The train started to move. Brigitte stood still, waving. He waved back. As his car passed the edge of the platform, he saw her turn away to leave the station.

As he watched her disappear, her voice echoed in his head.

_It’s only ten months._

 

 

 

_The End of Part 1_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with us and reading fifty thousand words about Bobby and Brigitte. A big thank you to everyone who has commented and/or given us a kudo. We really appreciate it and hope people will continue to give us feedback when they reach the end of this story. 
> 
> We really can’t thank our beta readers, Delwin and Photogirl1890 enough for their help on this piece. Also thanks to our families for allowing us to ignore them for the past seven months as we tried to figure out the Sainte Claire universe and write Summer.
> 
> Next in the series is Sainte Claire: Autumn, telling the story of the liberation of Sainte Claire during WW2. We expect to be able to post that installment sometime in 2016.
> 
> We hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as we enjoyed writing it.
> 
> \- Sareki and RSB


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